The Scarlett Heart Theory
by deathtoonormalcy
Summary: John is ruined after Sherlock's death. For nearly three years he is left alone and broken. Then one day Sherlock returns, and with a very special surprise. John/Sherlock
1. Chapter 1

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

"John." The therapist called, pulling me out of my reverie. I looked up slowly, my lips resting against my trembling knuckles. I knew my eyes where wide and my face ashen. I hadn't slept for days, large bags hanging under my eyes. My cheeks sunken in. I looked almost as terrible as I felt. Almost.

"You don't look well, is there something bothering you?" The woman asked, as if she was ignorant of my current situation. It was raining outside, like the sky was weeping for me. The dark overcast forced a shadow over London.

"You know why-" My throat closed, making it painful when the sentence cut off. It was the anniversary of Sherlock's death today, two years he had been dead. The thought caused me to wince and begin to shake, my leg throbbed in agony, the burn helped me slightly. I enjoyed the pain, I deserved it.

"Sherlock?" She asked gently, I flinched back from her as if she had hit me. Of course it was Sherlock, it was always Sherlock.

"I'm not depressed," I argued weakly when she scribbled it down. Annoyed, she tilted her leg up to block my view from the clip board.

"You're showing signs of depression. I told you, you need to come to visit me on a regular basis." She urged, but she sounded far away to me. I was thinking about the last two miserable years. I was almost completely gray now. My eyes where lifeless and I felt like I had aged fifty years in a matter of months. I went through the daily motions, getting up, showering, going to work. I still lived at the flat, unable to part with it. The thought of leaving the flat behind, Sherlock's home- _our_ home, was unimaginable.

Every day was quiet. Every day was boring. Every day was the same.

I'm sure I was making it worse by not being sociable and not dating. But no longer did I have the life in me, the energy I possessed when I had been with Sherlock. It's like when he died, half of me had too.

"Did you know that in mythology humans originally had four arms, four legs, and a single head made of two faces?" I started slowly. Everyone was cautious with me now. I was a broken glass that had managed to be picked up and glued together, but some parts where missing and you could see the lines from where I had been broken. The therapist listened to my every word.

"Zeus feared their power and split them all in half, condemning them to spend their lives searching for the other half to complete them. That's how we came about the idea of soul mates." I explained, carefully peeking at the therapist and awaiting her judgement. I had been thinking about me and Sherlock's relationship for a long time. Almost every day I considered what I could have done. Or should have done.

"Do you believe that Sherlock was your soul mate?" The therapist asked gently. My lips began to tremble and I stare at my knees. Did I? Why had I told her such a silly story? I was making a fool of my self. Hot tears slipped down my cheek. I gave her a small nod, and she came across the room. She wrapped her arms around me and gave me hug. It was rather unprofessional and I was sure she could loose her job for it. But I clung to her like a I child.

* * *

><p>"Mrs. Hudson." I called in a small voice. She looked up from the table and gave me a heartbroken smile.<p>

"How was it, dear?" She asked, gingerly approaching me as if I was a wild animal that might spook if she was not careful.

"I feel a bit better." I lied, and she beamed. Her smile did help some, and we sat at the table eating biscuits and tea.

"Will you go to the grave, today?" She asked later in the evening. I glanced at the clock. I still had two hours until the cemetery closed. I shook my head.

"I can't." I rasped, feeling my heart clench. Every time I went, it renewed my hope. Made me believe that Sherlock would return. I needed to close the gaping, raw hole in my chest. I needed to sew it up and let it scar over. Not visiting Sherlock's grave on a weekly basis would have to be the start.

"That's fine, love. Why don't you go get some rest, you look tired." She said, patting my hands with her wrinkled ones. I gave her a hesitant smile before wobbling up the stairs. My cane felt heavy as it helped me with each step. Slowly I climbed up to my room, passing Sherlock's on the way.

I had only gone in twice since Sherlock's death. I'd curled up in a ball in the center of the large bed and cried the first night Sherlock had died, again on the last anniversary. But not this year, this year I would be strong. I opened the door a crack, peering in exactly as I had a thousand times before. The room still smelt faintly of Sherlock, beneath the chemicals. My eyes scanned the familiar bed, the closet, the periodic table.

My gaze dropped to the picture of us on the bedside. Lestrade had snapped it on his phone and given it to Sherlock for Christmas. In the picture Sherlock and I were on our first crime scene together, leaning in close together over the pink phone. I was in the mid speech while Sherlock was looking at me with soft wonderment. It was a look I had never seen directly, the picture was the only proof I had that he even cared. The picture had been meant to be a joke, and Sherlock had scoffed when he received it, but there it stood, sitting firmly on the side of the bed covered in a small layer of dust.

"Dust is eloquent." I found myself repeating with a small chuckle as I turned and hobbled up the stairs.

* * *

><p>"John!" Sherlock called, his eyes frantic. Darkness all around them, swirling, coiling, shifting. Moriarty was laughing. I stiffened, I must be dreaming. My bleary eyes parted and Sherlock leaned over me, shaking my shoulders.<p>

"John, wake up!" Sherlock demanded. I heaved in a deep breath, lurching forward. My forehead crashed against something hard, and I heard a groan matching mine.

"Ow!" Lestrade snapped, holding his head. He was wearing a large beige trench coat which suited his tan skin nicely.

"What _are_ you doing in my room?" I demanded. Lestrade was one of the few people, if not only person I had kept up with. We had even had a drunken night of crying on each others shoulder that we had both pretended not to remember.

"There is something strange going on, a weird case. I need your help." Lestrade said, babbling on about how I needed to hurry and get dressed. I shooed him out of my room, quickly dressing and washing my face before following him out the door.

"I need coffee." I groaned, glancing at the clock. I had barely gotten six hours of sleep. Lestrade shivered against the cold as we hustled into his police car.

"We will get you some at the station." Lestrade promised, worrying his lip with his teeth.

* * *

><p>Laid out on a table where a pair of retro trainers, a pink phone, and a bottle of yellow spray paint. I felt my throat seize as I stared at the objects. Donovan and Anderson where watching from another room, but the windows where glass, so privacy was a bit lacking.<p>

"What-"

"Someone broke into the station to place the phone here, which first caught our attention. Then the museum was hit, and the yellow spray paint was placed in the center of an art gallery. The retro trainers are the strangest, someone broke into a pool and set them down in there. Do you know what it means?" Lestrade asked. I was shaking. It was where we had first met Moriarty, at the pool. He had killed Carl Powers and taken his trainers. Sherlock and I hadn't exactly informed Lestrade about that little life altering event.

"Jim Moriarty, he- he killed Carl Powers and stole his shoes a long time ago. Sherlock cracked the case and they met in the pool, that's how it all began." I relayed, my eyes never straining from the objects.

"Okay ..." Lestrade said. A steadying hand rested on my shoulder and I felt myself calm.

"I need you to tell me what this means." Lestrade said slowly, once again careful not to shatter the already broken. I flushed when I realized I was gripping Lestrade's jacket and quickly released him. The image of me holding onto Sherlock's sleeve when we had been handcuffed came to mind.

"Look here." Lestrade said, catching my attention once more. On the spray paint can a sloppy 'I' was written on it in marker. The DI tapped the phone and the screen saver was an 'O'. Flipping over the trainers, carved into the rubber on the bottom of the soles was a curve. When placed together they fit as a 'U'.

"Can you make any sense of it?" Lestrade asked. My heartbeat was so strong I nearly missed his question. My blood rocketing through my veins. I couldn't hear, couldn't focus. I ran out of the room, my limp which had been persistent and strong over the last two years vanished. I flew down the stairs, not bothering with the elevator. Waving down a taxi, I knew exactly where to go. I knew who would be waiting.

* * *

><p>Every step I took up to the roof of St. Bart's made me feel stronger. The energy pushed back into my body. My eyes sparking with life. Something, <em>someone<em> was here. Bursting open the doors I leapt into the sunlight, breathing hard.

"Sherlock?" I begged. The roof appeared empty as I spun around, blinking rapidly. Spots splattered over my vision. The cool, crisp air was fresh from the earlier rain.

"Sherlock!" I screamed so loudly that I doubled over, panting heavily. It bounced off the buildings surrounding me, echoing back in my own devastated voice. The sweat and tears mingled on my face, droplets sliding down my chin to land on the concrete. Dark gray spots staining it.

"Astounding how much steeper it appears from up here ... to jump I mean." Sherlock's voice was the softest flutter of a raven's wing against my ear. The deep, smooth tone which sounded like it was from another era was too perfect to be real. I fisted my hand into my jumper, right above my heart. The thumping was strong and rapid.

"Sherlock." I sobbed, unable to look up. It was a dream, it had to be. There was no way that this could possibly be real. I'd seen him in the flat before, memories that were so vivid they seemed real for a few moments. But this, _I could feel him_ in front of me.

"John." He called my name, and I finally looked up. He was standing at the exact spot he had been when he jumped. His dark coat flapped in the wind, his hands tucked behind his back neatly. His blue scarf was tied around his throat and his hair was lightly being played with by the breeze.

He looked exactly the same, as if I'd been transported back in time. I stared at him a few moments and he gave me a small nervous smile before stepping down from the ledge. His leather shoes tapped against the ground, his long legs appearing before vanishing back beneath his coat. His eyes held so many emotions, I couldn't even begin to unravel them.

But it didn't matter, because the next moment I found myself swimming in a gray mist.

* * *

><p>When I woke up I was in the flat, sitting in my chair. The collar of my shirt had been unbuttoned, and my lips tingled.<p>

"I owe you a thousand apologies." Sherlock began, his eyes consuming me. I chocked down a sob, and trembled as his long, pale hands caressed my own. His fingers curled beneath my wrist, tracing my pulse lightly.

"I had no idea you would be so affected." Sherlock said solemnly, his eyes roving over my face and heaving chest. I gripped his arm, leaning up I allowed the whimper to spill from my numb lips.

"Is this a dream? Is it really you?" I asked him, even trusting the Sherlock in my dreams over myself. The pained look that flashed over his face was brief. His hand slide over mine, which was still tightly clutching at his broad shoulders.

"It's me. I'm back." He assured, his eyes never left mine. As if he was also unsure if I was real, as if I would slip away. I had been shattered, broken. Now it was as if Sherlock had come and sealed the glass giving it a pristine new look. I fumbled forward, pulling him into a hug which he hesitantly returned.

"I-I thought you'd died." I said into his neck. He stiffened, and his hand made small methodological circles on my back.

"I'm sorry." He said briskly, the circles stopped and he made a motion to retreat from my body but I held him tightly. I buried my face in his curls, my body racked with dry sobs.

"You'll leave again." I said, his hands held me loosely at the back.

"I won't." He promised, obviously uncomfortable by the emotions rushing from my body. I allowed him too pull back, but kept his hand in mine.

"Where-" I began, but seeing his face brought on a whole other onslaught of emotions. He sat back on his heels, kneeling before me in a dark suit.

"Traveling the world with Scarlett." He answered easily. I blinked in confusion, a woman? Sherlock had left me for ... a woman? Maybe this really was a dream. The sense of dread that filled my belly felt very real.

"Scarlett?" I choked, and he gave a terse nod.

"We've been on quite a few adventures. She is a fantastic traveling partner." Sherlock smiled, it was the greatest compliment I'd ever heard him giving someone, and it wasn't directed at me. I looked away, in shock. He'd been the center of my world, and here he was having the time of his life with a woman.

"Is she beautiful?" I found myself asking bitterly. Sherlock gave me an small annoyed look.

"Beauty should be the least important factor in a persons overall persona, but she is indeed stunning. Although I suppose youth is always favorable." So she was young and beautiful, and Sherlock acknowledged _both_. She must be something else. Then it suddenly hit me.

"She's _here_?" I gasped, reeling back. Sherlock scrunched his brow slightly.

"Of course. She is down stairs with Mrs. Hudson. Scarlett!" He yelled for good measure. It was silent downstairs before feet pattered up the stairway. Anxiety filled me as I waited. Then she appeared and my eyes widened. Auburn curls where half pinned back from pale skin and clever eyes. Thick lips where curled up in a tiny smile which drew attention to the cheekbones which where hidden behind childish roundness. She was simply the most gorgeous creature I'd had ever seen. Oh god.

"Yes, Daddy?" The little girl asked, her accent french. I felt my eyes bulge as Sherlock waved her over. She came closer to me, and I could see even more how doll like her features where. Thick black lashes framed her green-blue eyes. She had a tiny elegant chin, and slender eyebrows. Such delicate features she possessed that they appeared to be painted on by the brush of an artist.

"John, my daughter, Scarlett." Sherlock introduced easily.

* * *

><p>"I don't understand." I said slowly. Was this some kind of joke? Maybe I was in a coma? Dead maybe? This was some kind of alternate universe where Sherlock was a domestic husband and I was a strung out detective.<p>

"We will discuss the details later. For now you should get some rest. I need to set up my homeless network again, as well as get Lestrade to find me more cases." Sherlock said, the little girl came to his side. She stood as close to possible to him as she could, without actually touching him. When he moved to stand up, she slide away, able to avoid his jerky and sudden movements with practiced ease. She was used to being forgotten, she was used to him ignoring her.

"How old are you, Scarlett?" I found myself asking. She looked up, obviously shocked from being asked such a normal question. How much time had she been spending with her strange father?

"Four, monsieur." She said, peeking up at me from eyelashes that resembled feathers. Her eyes darted to Sherlock who was pulling his microscope down from the top of the shelf.

"You where raised in France?" I asked, inspecting her clothes I saw she was wearing a ratty dress, and her hair desperately needed to be washed. Had Sherlock been properly caring for her? Last I remembered he could hardly remember to feed himself on a regular basis.

"Yes. Daddy and I lived there." She said, coming closer tentatively. I suddenly felt angry at Sherlock, this child might not have intentionally been neglected, but she was still obviously not given enough affection. I smiled warmly at her and she beamed back, becoming excited at the attention she was receiving.

"Aren't you going to start school soon?" I asked, she stood closer to me. Her hand rested on my knee curiously, to see if I would brush her away, when I didn't she looked overwhelmed.

"Oui! I mean-yes. You're name is John, no?" She asked, she clamored into my lap. I laughed and patted her head. Soft curls tickled my palm.

"Yes, my name is John." I said gently and she giggled. She perched on my thigh, gripping my jumper sleeve. Her legs swung freely as she began to talk rapidly, switching from French to English so quickly I couldn't understand her.

"Mycroft insists on sending her to one of the insanely expensive boarding schools when she is of age. Probably wants her to take over the family business of world domination." Sherlock muttered to himself. I looked around the room. Already the neat house I had kept was in a disarray. Sherlock had his and Scarlett's suitcase flipped open by the door. His jacket was flung on his chair, and Scarlett's was on the floor. A stack of papers where spread out on the table and he was rebuilding his lab in the kitchen. I found myself laughing, the warmth of the child chatting in my ear and Sherlock softly cursing to himself was swelling within me. This was life, _this_ was happiness.

"Monsieur?" The little girl asked, her pudgy little hands pawing at my face. I saw that I was crying, again. I laughed, sniffing as Sherlock appeared before me. The closest emotion he would allow to actual worry was on his face.

"I'm fine," I assured their identical anxious eyes. I laughed, covering my face.

"I've just- I'm so very happy." I chuckled. The girl began to mewl at me like I was a baby, cooing me with gentle words. Sherlock returned to his lab.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own BBC Sherlock

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><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

Sherlock's icon appeared as my phone buzzed insistently in my pocket. Sherlock never called. I knew it was the little girl instantly.

"Zawn." Her accent paired with her still feeble speaking skills made for truly hilarious pronunciations. The child chirped into my ear as I answered the phone. I gave an apologetic smile to my patient.

"What is it, Scarlett?" I asked. Sherlock was cursing in the background and I scowled subconsciously.

"I'm hungry." The little french girl whined, something clattered and Sherlock groaned in agony. I heard Scarlett retreat to somewhere else in the flat as he raised his voice, most likely my room.

"I'm off work in an hour, I'll bring food then. Don't look in the fridge." I said seriously. Her hair brushed over the phone as she nodded.

"I love you!" She cried hurriedly, thinking I might hang up like Sherlock did as soon as he was finished saying his part. I paused a moment, smiling.

"I love you too, Scarlett." I said gently. She giggled and hung up. It had been only two days since their return. The house was in a whirlwind, but it was so good to have Sherlock back. Everyone had noticed the change in John. Some even had the audacity to suggest he had gotten a face lift.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock, I told you to give Scarlett a bath!" I called as the ragged girl rushed down the stairs to meet me. Sighing I patted her ratted hair. I needed to look after her better, Sherlock was obviously not.<p>

"How did you go two years with him?" I asked her, shouldering the two large bags of groceries. Most where foods that didn't have to go in the toxic fridge.

"We had a maid, her name was Claire." Scarlett answered, clinging to me. Since I allowed it, she took full advantage. It could be a bit much at times, but seeing how she never got the opportunity with Sherlock I accepted it.

"Left her in France?" I asked, and Scarlett nodded. She climbed onto the counter, although a small boned girl, she was adorably chubby. I wondered if she had inherited the same pudgy gene as Mycroft had. She was a skilled climber however, easily scouring the cabinet with minimal handholds.

"What's for dinner?" She asked, wearing one of Sherlock's informal tee shirts. It hung like a dress from her childish frame.

"Potatoes and roast beef." I said, picking plain meal. I had always been under the impression children liked simple foods. Scarlett smiled as I peeled back the foil from the precooked meat which I had picked up from a restaurant. I tossed the potatoes in oven.

"Daddy! Will you eat dinner with us?" Scarlett asked eagerly. Sherlock ignored her for a moment and I cleared my throat. Finally he answered.

"No." He said curtly and I glowered at his back.

"He will." I insisted, and Sherlock continued ignoring the both of us. A few minutes later it was ready. Cleaning off half the table, I set it for the three of us.

"Sherlock." I called, and he huffed before joining us. He picked at his food while Scarlett spoke hurriedly to him. He was surprisingly patient, giving her small acknowledgments.

"...and then I had a very puffy dress and you where my Prince and we danced for the whole night until midnight cause' midnight is magic, no? Then you gave me a shoe and I turned into a pumpkin and mommy said I was still very cute because I was a red pumpkin which is her favorite color, no?" Scarlett rushed. I froze at the word mother. Of course Scarlett had a mother, I was a Doctor for God's sake I knew that. The thought still made me break out in a sweat and my hands clench around the silverware. Sherlock had yet to inform me of the specifics of his trip, and I'd been so excited I hadn't pushed.

"What is your mothers name, Scarlett?" I asked, and Sherlock's head snapped up to the question. His gaze was cold and unblinking, I avoided it. He stared me down, and Scarlett seemed enthusiastic about the answer.

"Ma Mere? She is-"

"Scarlett, you said that in your dream I had given you a shoe. Which kind?" Sherlock asked suddenly, cutting her off. I glared at him and he met my gaze evenly.

"One I could look through!" She said.

"A glass slipper? The composition of which is about 75% silica, plus Na2O, CaO, and several minor additives. Hardly a suitable choice for a child so young. If it broke, you could get cut and bleed to death. I'd be much more likely to purchase you something more durable. A rubber soled shoe would be the obvious choice, but then again you would most likely appreciate something similar to your fantasy. I suspect plastic would suffice." Sherlock said, while Scarlett hung on his every word, absorbing it like a sponge.

"Glass is 75% silica, Na20, CaO and seven additives?" She repeated, Sherlock offered her a small pleased smile which she happily returned.

"_Several_, which suggests an unspecified but general proximity to the number." He corrected and she nodded obediently, repeating it quietly to herself. Oh god, another genius. I rubbed my temples and finished my meal while the two discussed the additives found in glass.

* * *

><p>We decided it would be a good idea to bath Scarlett after dinner. She'd squealed, splashing water all over the bathroom. I'd made the horrible mistake of giving her bubbles, which turned bath time into play time. One both Sherlock and I participated in.<p>

"I am not doing this, you clean her up." Sherlock snapped as he blew the puff of bubbles which had been tossed at his curls by the flushed child. Her skin was as pale as Sherlocks, she truly took after him.

"She is your daughter! You're lucky I'm helping you." I said, trying to roll up my sleeves again. I don't know why I was, I was soaked through from her flailing.

"Scarlett, stop squirming!" Sherlock scowled, getting a face full of soapy water. Exasperated I gave in, helping him.

"Here you go." I said reaching down to pick up the barbie doll. She eagerly gripped it, dunking it in and out of the water.

"Oh no! She is having a pulmonary edema! Call an ambulance!" Scarlett wailed, her eyes flicking up to her fathers for approval. I gasped in horror, was this child honestly diagnosis her drowning barbie?

"Scarlett!" Sherlock scolded, aghast. Thank God, I'd thought that he would say something silly. All doubt I had in his parenting skills made me feel suddenly guilty, he was doing a fairly good job-

"She is obviously suffering from asphyxiation caused by submersion in a liquid." He said mildly, and she actually looked embarrassed.

"Do you realize that you've just made a four year old, embarrassed because she didn't know how to diagnosis her drowning barbie!" I said in disbelief. Sherlock gave her a small inquisitive look.

"Are you four, Scarlett? I was under the impression you where still three." Sherlock said, rinsing the suds from her hair. The now deep chestnut brown curls where shiny and lustrous. She had the most beautiful, but strange colored hair I'd ever seen. Depending on the light, it could be auburn, chestnut, or a deep red.

"I'm four, Daddy." She said, spluttering as he dumped a cup full of water over her face. She squawked before wailing, the soap having gotten in her eyes. I plucked her from the bath, as she cried.

"Shh, shh. It's okay." I said, resting her cheek against the sink as I used my hand to drizzle cool water over her burning eyes. Sherlock flashed her a concerned look.

"Scarlett, I'm very sorry." Sherlock said tensely, as her cries died down to whimpers. Her red eyes widened and her crying renewed ten fold.

"Daddy-Daddy, it's okay!" She said, mimicking my earlier statement. I wrapped her in a towel before handing her to Sherlock who held her carefully. She sobbed against his neck.

"It's okay, Daddy. Don't apologize!" She blubbered, Sherlock petted her wet hair, a tiny loving smile on his face.

* * *

><p>We sat in the living room, Scarlett was wearing one of my knit jumpers. Sherlock's shirts where much too long for her, dragging on the floor. She was seated behind Sherlock's chair, pulling off her barbie's head and arms then preforming an 'emergency surgery' by popping them back into the torso. I sat in my chair, reading a book, while Sherlock scanned some files Lestrade had sent to him. A lot of cases had been left unsolved since Sherlock's time away.<p>

"Scarlett, go up to John's room." He dismissed, not even looking at her. I prepared to protest, but she had already gathered her doll, and the stethoscope I had brought from the office for her. She treasured it much more than the naked barbie that she had covered in band aids.

"Why did you do that?" I demanded, feeling a flash of anger. Sherlock glanced at me from his chair.

"You're curious aren't you? Didn't you want to know what happened, how I came about raising my child." Sherlock asked. A knowing smile was on his face that I despised and loved all at the same time.

"Tell me." I gave in with a sigh, he settled the files on the table and turned to me. He crossed his long legs elegantly and steepled his slender fingers.

"Jim Moriarty threatened to kill you, Mrs. Hudson, and Lestrade if I didn't ... kill myself. So naturally the odds weren't in my favor. Once I preformed the allusion, I had hide out for a couple of months before coming back to you." Sherlock said, his voice was a tad deeper. When he said the last sentence his eyes bored into mine.

"You must understand, John, how difficult it was for me. I know you must think me selfish, and cruel for what I did to you. But I did it to save you're life, I-I couldn't bear the thought of anyone hurting you." Sherlock said, running a ragged hand through his hair. He cleared his throat, obviously becoming more emotional than he had intended. I made sure to cherish the words, saving them in my mind to replay on repeat later.

"I went to France, Mycroft had insured a safe haven for me there. The structure's where similar enough London that I could bear it for a time. I-I was in a cafe when I saw Irene," His voice drifted off, soft and completely unlike Sherlock. _Irene ... _Not 'the woman', but Irene. It was so cruelly intimate.

"She had a child with her. I'm not a fool, I knew the second I saw Scarlett hat she was mine. My eyes, lips, facial structure. But the rest, the rest was all Irene. The eyebrows, the chin, the slim nose. I knew in that second that I was a father, and my world changed." Sherlock admitted, his hands trembling slightly beneath his lips. He glanced up to me, reading my reactions with that cutting glacier like stare.

"I tracked her down and confronted her when Scarlett was with a Nanny. She admitted to ... 'having a go' the night I saved her from execution. I hardly remember it, just that I had taken the offered glass of champagne which she had drugged. The ending result, as you know, was her pregnancy." Sherlock disclosed, the tips of his middle fingers were rubbing across his bottom lip as he spoke, his eyes dazed. I watched him with captivated fascination. I loved when he spoke to me in long monologues like this, it was one of the rare chances I had to stare at him without being interrupted by his biting remarks.

"She planned it, she wanted you to impregnate her." I said without thinking. Sherlock looked stunned a moment, before he slide into an easy smile.

"When I accused her of the same thing, she said, _'If I can't have those cheekbones, then my child will.'_. I of course was appalled, but she admitted her radical actions where in part due to her 'feelings' for me." Sherlock maliciously said, his eyes narrowing. The room went silent and he studied me as I sat there.

"Where is she?" I asked lightly. Sherlock's gaze hardened just the slightest, and he smirked.

"Dead." He confirmed my thoughts and I looked away.

* * *

><p>"I'm not doing this." Sherlock spat, his arms crossed over his chest in finality. Scarlett was holding onto the end of his blazer carefully, ready to move at a moment's notice away from her father's brisk and sudden strides.<p>

"You are, I can't do all the shopping." I said, handing him a list and his credit card. He ignored it and Scarlett reached up, taking it for him. She was wearing tiny black shorts, which were meant to be worn beneath her pretty dresses. I'd swept her hair into a neat but plain ponytail. She had taken a likening to my bedtime shirts, currently she was wearing a gray tee which hung from her tiny shoulders. She seemed misplaced standing next to her father in a suit.

"Papa, will you stay?" She asked. 'Papa' was her way of showing I was now part of her family. Her second father she introduced me as, much to my embarrassment. I thought Lestrade would burst from laughing so hard when she said this. Not that I wasn't flattered, but people tended to get the wrong idea when a little girl had two bachelor fathers.

"I will, but just to keep watch." I said, and her long wavy ponytail bounced along with her. I had bought her children's trainer, the shoes where sporty and comfortable. She loved them, and abandoned the fancy buckle leather shoes that Mycroft had sent her. Recently he must have seen her rather distressful taste in fashion on a CCTV since she had been getting a lot of fashion designer dresses in the mail.

"Let's get this over with." Sherlock hissed, hurrying down the aisle. Scarlett followed, having to jog to keep up. She was looking at the list.

"Lait-I mean milk." She called up to her father's massive form. He glanced down at her, plucking it from the shelf as he passed.

"Sherlock, you didn't even check the percentage." I said, annoyed. He halted, looking up at me in confusion.

"The what?" He scowled, looking at the carton. He focused his gaze and snorted, tossing it on top of a pile of meat. I cursed at him under my breath and placed it back on the shelf.

"We are not getting fat free." He said, picking up whole milk. I gaped.

"Sherlock, do you know how much fat is in that? We get fat free." I said, pulling the carton from his hands.

"Papa, fat free is icky." Scarlett popped in.

"Ah, words of a future philosopher. I agree, we will not be purchasing any 'icky' milk. You are a woman of refined taste, my dear." Sherlock patted her head, rewarding her for siding with him. I scowled and she threw me a hesitant glance.

"Daddy, Papa likes the 'icky' one though." She pointed out, standing between us. He shot be a brief glance.

"Judging by his taste in women, I'd say it's best not to trust any decisions he may find plausible." Sherlock said to her, which she covered her mouth to hide her giggle. I ripped the carton from his hand, embarrassed.

"We're getting, fat free!" I shouted, and he glared at me furiously.

"Whole." He said, tugging it off the rack once again.

"Fat free!

"Whole!"

"Fat free!"

"Whole! The nutrients found in a cow's milk provide proper-"

"Papa. Daddy. Can we get this one?" She asked, holding up a half and half. Her eyes where wide and scared from our shouting, we both agreed instantly.

"Fine." We echoed at the same time.


	3. Chapter 3

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

"John, wake up." Sherlock's voice called. I blinked slowly opening my eyes. I was warm and comfortable, a comfortable weight rested on top of me. Scarlett had climbed on me while I was napping on the couch, she had fallen asleep on my chest, small puffs of her warm breath tickled my chin.

"Yes. Yep, I'm up." I muttered, still ruddy with sleep. Sherlock glanced at Scarlett then me.

"Lestrade called, there has been a murder." Sherlock said a large smile spread over his usually stoic features.

"Who will watch, Scarlett?" I asked instantly, the child still limp across my chest. Her long lashes flicked against her pale cheeks.

"We will have to take her. Mrs. Hudson is out, crime waits for no one." Sherlock beamed.

* * *

><p>"Sherlock it's good to- you brought Scarlett?" Lestrade shouted, his face twisted in disbelief. The still sleepy child rubbed her eye as my jumper hung from her shoulder childishly. It was a warm night, but I was still concerned about her lack of proper clothing.<p>

"Bonsoir, onspectoir." Her accent gave way while she was sleepy. Sherlock had spoken to her in mostly french for the two years of her life, seeing it fit since they lived in France. It would be a hard habit to break, but we planned on keeping her bilingual.

"John, I can't believe you agreed to this!" Lestrade said, I flushed. Of course I hadn't. But to be honest, I was dying to visit a crime scene myself. Sherlock was giving him an annoyed look, he pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his slacks. He tied it around Scarletts eyes and she giggled.

"There. Come, Scarlett. Let's investigate" He said, leading her to the warehouse by the hand.

"Papa, let's investigate!" She called to me, waving her free hand in the air for me to grab. I did so, pulling her away from Sherlock.

"Absolutely not, stay here with Lestrade. We should be out soon." I promised, pulling the handkerchief from off her head. She pouted, begrudgingly taking Lestrade's hand.

"Chataigne." She called the inspector, causing Sherlock to snicker. I had no idea what it meant. I hurried to Sherlock as we entered the packaging room. It was a large warehouse on the wharf, empty besides the fowl smell of fish.

"Oh, God. What is that smell?" I complained, coughing slightly. Sherlock walked over to the body, crouching down to inspect it. He glanced at the mans shoes and scowled, sniffing his gaping mouth.

"He took a tumble." I noticed, seeing how his body was skewed and his shoes scuffed, he was obviously drunk before he died.

"No signs of alcohol on his breath." Sherlock said, leaning back. He stood and retraced the mans steps, back to the office. The man had knocked over a few things on his was into the packaging room.

"He was stumbling." I pointed out. Sherlock was ignoring me, zoning in some files laying on the mans desk before smirking. The door opened and Scarlett peeked in.

"Scarlett, you were to wait outside." I scolded, she pouted running up to me to grip my leg.

"No, Papa. I want to be with you and Daddy." She said, her full lips trembling. I sighed, rubbing a hand over my forehead.

"You can't go into the packaging room." I warned, it was bad enough we had a four year old on the crime scene. The last thing we needed was-

"Why is that man laying on the ground, it's stinky." She said, scrunching her nose cutely. I felt my stomach coil.

"You saw him?" I asked, and she nodded happily.

"Yes, I thought he might be hurt." She said, a worried frown tugging at her identical lips. Sherlock rifled through a cabinet, not seeming bothered at all.

"Sherlock ..." I said, and he glanced up with disdain.

"He was sleeping." Sherlock lied in a monotone voice. Scarlett crossed her arms, glaring at him huffily.

"Daddy, that's a lie! I tried to wake him." She said, tugging at my shirt and pointing accusingly at her father.

"Papa, daddy is lying." She repeated, I smothered her hair and picked her up.

"Fine, he's dead." Sherlock said, becoming angry now. I knew he hated being bothered when investigating a crime scene, but this was his daughter.

"I'll take Scarlett home, while you finish up here." I said, I saw the relief on his face and he tossed me a grateful look.

"Thank you." He sighed heavily, scouring the files.

* * *

><p>"Thump, thump, thump." Scarlett sung happily, pressing the stethoscope to my chest as she sat in my lap. I read a book over her shoulder, lazily stroking her silken hair.<p>

"Papa, how did that man die?" She asked suddenly. I closed my eyes and tried not to pull a face. Setting down my book. I offered her a easy smile, which she returned.

"We aren't sure. That is your Daddy's job, to find out how a person died." I said, her legs swung and tiny feet patted against my shins.

"Is it bad, that I saw him?" She asked, looking guilty as she fumbled with the stethoscope now in her lap. I shook my head.

"It's not bad, I just- I don't think a little girl should see things like that. You might get nightmares-"

"I won't, I promise! It's not scary." She ensured, her eyes wide.

"I'm glad you're not scared. You're very brave." I complimented and she blushed. Compliments were rare for her, seeing as I worked and she spent most of her time with her harsh father.

"You won't leave me again, okay?" She said, gripping my thumb in her tiny palm. I reached around, holding her hand, I felt my brow knit together.

"Scarlett, sometimes you will have to be separated from Sherlock and I. That's part of growing up." I pushed, and she sniffed, her eyes going glassy at the thought.

"No, Papa. I don't like that, I'll stay with you." She panicked, her arms reaching around to cling to my neck. I rubbed her back soothingly.

"Are you scared you'll loose us like you lost your mother?" I asked gently, my voice soft in her ear. I'd noticed how she clung to us. How she hated being watched by Mrs. Hudson, despite adoring the woman. Scarlett nodded into my neck, I felt her warm tears and rocked her carefully, swaying to ease her tiny sobs.

"We will never leave you, darling. I promise you that. We love you very much." I said against her warm hair.

"I love you too, Papa." She said, falling asleep tucked under my chin.

* * *

><p>Sherlock appeared behind me as I tucked her into his bed. Leaning against the door frame.<p>

"I solved it." He said cheekily, but his voice was hushed. I tucked the covers up to her chin and she rolled over, grasping my hand while she slept. Prying away from her gently, I rested my lips against her chubby knuckles before laying her hand beneath the covers.

"Fantastic, tell me what happened." I whispered, brushing a lock from her forehead. Turning around Sherlock was giving me a smug look.

"What?" I asked, he motioned for me to follow him out of the room and I did. I would follow him anywhere.

"You always wanted children." He pointed out as I quietly shut the door, walking up to him where he stood in the kitchen, his hip resting on the counter.

"Yeah, so?" I said, reaching behind him to get started on a cuppa. I let out an annoyed huff when I had to stand on my tip toe to reach the top shelf. Sherlock spun behind me, trapping me against the counter, his chest bumped against my back.

"I gave you a child." He said lowly into my ear. My stomach knotted, as he reached around me. He easily retrieved my favorite mug, slipping it between my slack fingers.

"Scarlett is your daughter." I said, but my voice held no real strength. His arms enveloped me, pulling me back into his body. It's was almost a hug, but his hands remained flattened on the counter before my belly.

"She is _our_ daughter." Sherlock said, his nose grazing at the exposed skin behind my ear. I shivered at the sudden chill when his body vanished, he headed over to his microscope. My hands where shaking so violently that I nearly dropped the mug. What the hell was that?

"Make me one too, will you?" He hummed, seemingly pleased with himself. It was all in my head. I was sure of it. I was hallucinating, Sherlock would never be so intimate. Never _say_ something so intimate. I made us the tea, desperate for him to fill the silence where my thoughts raced.

"The case, tell me how you solved it." I said shakily. He kept his eyes fixed on the scope, but answered.

"Mercury poisoning. Lack of coordination and speech impairment. Our victim was one of the prime consumers of the factories fish, workers got specials. This particular man noticed his ailments and went to a doctor who told him his symptoms. He tried blackmailing the foreman into giving him compensation money for his silence on his mercury poisoning, and if he didn't he, would go to the public and tell everyone they had bad fish. The foreman killed him in a rage." Sherlock explained. I nodded, everything fit so perfectly. It was like I had seen the picture, watched the pieces fall apart, and then forgotten how they fit. Sherlock was the one who always knew how to put the pieces back.

"Brilliant. Truly." I sighed. What it must be like, being so intelligent. He outsmarted the entire Scotland Yard. Sherlock's eyes were glossy as I handed him his cuppa, they caressed me. Igniting a fire he gazed at my lips down to my neck, then skipped to my torso and hips. I shook my head, clearing my throat.

Sherlock would never do something so ... lusty. He was merely deducing me, like he did with everyone. Those eyes didn't have the same look in them, they weren't calculating. Quite the opposite in fact, they seemed dazed. But still, the idea of being goggled at by Sherlock was preposterous.

"Delicious." Sherlock growled throatily, and I felt my knees nearly buckle.

"What?" I rasped, gripping the desk for support. I swayed and he wore the most devilish look, holding up the cup.

"The tea, it's delicious." He said, and I gave him a weak smile. I couldn't help but notice that he had yet to take a sip.

* * *

><p>"I think this will be good for her." I said, glancing up at Sherlock who was looking at the house in distaste.<p>

"This is going to be a nightmare." Sherlock gritted, I took a step towards the door and wished I hadn't. It swung open and a pile of boys rushed out, stampeding passed us.

"Hey, get back here! That's not a toy!" Lestrade yelled, hanging out the window. I looked on in horror as the children tossed a handgun back and forth. Greg caught sight of us and smiled.

"Hey, boys. Come on in." Lestrade grinned from a window. When I gaped at the four boys wrestling for possession of the weapon Greg waved a hand over to them.

"No worries, it's not loaded." He assured. Sherlock stepped into the house, Scarlett clung to shoulders, craning her neck to look at the other children.

"How does Mycroft handle this." I heard Sherlock grunt under his breath as he saw the toy's stern all over the nice house. Some clothes dangled from the stairway, and there where roller blades handing from the expensive looking chandelier.

"Scarlett, love, how are you?" Greg said, patting her cheek. I couldn't help but notice he was wearing a frilly white apron in front of the stove. She nuzzled into his hand, smiling sweetly.

"Very good, chataigne." She said, using her nickname for him. I set her down and she went to Greg's side. She did like Greg, she just hated being parted from Sherlock and I.

"Jenny, come down and meet Scarlett." Greg called. A child appeared around the corner, she had mousy brown hair and her father's handsome features. She was nearly the same age as Scarlett.

"Bonjour!" Scarlett said, scampering up to Jenny. It occurred to me she must not have gotten to play with children her age for quite some time. The child's eyes widened and her tiny mouth made an 'o'.

"You look like a princess." Jenny gushed, touching Scarlett's satin curls. We had forced her to wear one of Mycroft's simpler dresses, and I'd brushed her lustrous hair and pulled half of it up in a ribbon.

"I do?" Scarlett whimpered, tugging at her dress in embarrassment. I winced, of course she would think it was an insult. A few days ago I had been caught playing 'tea party' with Scarlett, when Sherlock proceeded to comment on my 'princess-like' grace, which then induced me to throw a tantrum.

"She means that as a compliment. She's saying you're pretty." I clarified as Scarlett pouted selfconciously. Scarlett blinked and thanked the girl quietly, becoming shy. She tucked herself behind Sherlock's long legs.

"Look at that, you made a new friend, Jenny." Greg grinned, flipping over a wad of meat on the grill.

"Are you sure it's okay, leaving her here?" I asked Lestrade, he looked up in confusion.

"Well, why wouldn't it be? I don't mind, what's one more kid to watch!" He laughed, shoveling the meat onto the last empty bun.

"Jenny, go get your brothers." Greg said, wiping his hands on the apron before picking up the plates and setting them on the table.

"You guys want to stay for dinner, we have plenty." Lestrade said, poking out his tongue as he balanced the plates. I helped him, and he tossed me an appreciative smile.

"No, we're both doing a private case. We need to hurry." Sherlock spoke up, oddly quite. He sidestepped out of the hallway as the stampede trampled into the living room.

"Dinner's ready, dimwits!" Jenny shouted up the stairs, two more boys came down. The table was filled with six boys, and the two girls. Scarlett was seated between two little wankers who where elbowing her to get to the food. She ducked under them and took a new seat at the edge of the table, by Jenny.

"She'll be fine." Greg said, biting into his own meal. The children where all talking loudly, and Sherlock looked uncomfortable. I bent down by Scarlett, she was already having a conversation with Jenny.

"Scar, we're going to go, okay. You remember how to use your phone?" I asked, she gave me a hesitant nod.

"You call us if you need anything, we won't be far. I love you, sweetheart." I said, brushing my lips over her forehead. She pulled me into her small embrace.

"Bye, Papa." She said, biting her lip. She didn't want us to leave, but she was trying to be cooperative. Sherlock made sure she was obedient, she had to be with such a demanding father. He was standing nearly in the kitchen, watching from the hallway. He made no move to say goodbye.

She lowered her head slightly, heartbroken. He sighed, spreading his arms in the smallest gesture, it sent her flying from her seat and across the hallway to barrel against his tall frame. He lifted her into one of his rare hugs, and she returned it full force.

"Be good." He said, setting her down. She nodded and went back to her seat, waving as we left the house.


	4. Chapter 4

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

"It's the new year, and we're working." I said, rubbing at my eyes as we sat in a restaurant across the street from a night club. Well, okay, it was a gay bar. People where bustling in and out. Our client was mysteriously linked to something Mycroft had us working on. Sherlock needed to get close enough to the man to make a few deductions.

"I bet Mycroft doesn't have to go to gay bars." I mumbled, pouting slightly. Sherlock kept his eyes trained on the club but his lips quirked up. I blinked, catching the amusement on his face.

"No ..." I gasped, leaning forward. I was bored currently, anything would have interested me at this point. But the older Holmes brother being gay? That was news.

"Come on, he just entered." Sherlock said, unbuttoning a few more buttons on his shirt than usual. He ran his fingers through his hair and I followed him to the club. His usually brisk, long strides where exchanged for a swiveling saunter.

"Hey, can we go in?" Sherlock asked loudly in a bright voice. It was disturbing how well he was at acting. The bouncer eyes him up and down and Sherlock smiled at him sensuously, I snickered.

"Sure thing." The bouncer said, lifting the rope. Gyrating bodies where everywhere. Sherlock's arm slipped around my waist as we were almost pushed apart.

"Stay close." He called in my ear, scouting around the club. I nodded, feeling his head against my back as we pushed through the crowd. The music was loud, pop music from the states that I didn't recognize. Sherlock's hand on my waist tightened and I was suddenly very self conscious of the little roll of belly fat I'd accumulated since living with Sherlock.

"Sherlock, stop! I can walk on my own." I shouted, we stumbled together. I bumped into a young man and his eyes traveled over my face and shoulders, he licked his lips and I flushed. Sherlock whirled me around.

"Dance with me." Sherlock said, his eyes flickering across the room. I blanched as he moved elegently, he swayed to the music, his hips rolling seductively. Sherlock could dance?

"What about the man?" I asked, dancing awkwardly in front of him. Sherlock let his amusement show on his face.

"You don't exactly have a height advantage, John." He commented, I looked up realizing I was too short to even look above the heads of the clubbers. I scowled, continuing to dance terribly.

Sherlock's gaze would slip to me every few minutes, his lips trying to stay clamped together but they kept twisting up in amusement at my awkward flapping. I glared up at him, grunting as someone pushed me. I tripped against his chest.

"10!"

"9!"

"8!"

"It's midnight?" I called over the shouting. Sherlock looked down at me, nodding.

"Obviously." He called back, his hand steadying on my lower back.

"7!"

"6!"

"I'd like to apologize in advance." Sherlock said, his eyes looking somewhere over me. I followed his gaze to a monitor, five couples in the crowd where on screen. Two of them lesbian, the rest gay. The one in the center was us, Sherlock's arm appearing to be wrapped possessively around me while we spoke into each others ear.

"5!"

"4!"

"What're you talking about?" I asked, trying to pull away from him. But there were so many people. My hands where flattened on his chest, it appeared as if we where embracing.

"3!"

"2!"

"1!" My eyes widened Sherlock's long fingers slipped over the nape of my neck, tilting my head back. My mouth opened in protest and he dipped his lips to mine.

I was _kissing_ bloody Sherlock Holmes.

The people around us cheered, hollering out. I twisted my hands in his shirt, prepared to throw him off. This was my best friend I was snogging! This was ridiculous. This was insane! This was ... nice. Really, really nice. His tongue slide across my bottom lip, I trembled and started pulling away. He pulled me closer, I scrambled to reach the floor but he'd lifted me off of it, cramming our mouths together.

"Hmf! Sherlock!" I gasped, ripping my mouth from his. He nipped sharply at my lower lip before setting me back on the ground. He'd bit me! That bastard had actually bit me! I tasted a bit a blood from my split lip. Our breathing was labored, as the crowd cheered around us, a few slapping us on the backs. Our eyes locked, the club seemed to fade as we stared at each other. Sherlock's eyes flickered up and he frowned.

"Come on, John." He called, pulling me by the hand through the crowd. The crowd parted for us, allowing us to easily catch up to the young man we were tracking. Sherlock had counted on that. The dancing, the touching, to get the cameras attention. Then people would assume we were ... running off to do ... that. A perfect getaway. Sherlock was so intelligent it hurt sometimes to think about it. We ran into the back ally chasing the man through the damp London streets.

* * *

><p>"Christ," I panted, resting my hands on my knees. Sherlock growled under his labored breath, his knuckles clenched.<p>

"He's fast." I said, inhaling sharply.

"Yes, thank you John I wasn't aw- he _is_ fast." Sherlock said, his vision narrowing. He was in his mind palace, I rolled my eyes waving down a cab.

"Yeah, over here mate!" I called, the cab pulling up. I moved Sherlock in, following beside him. He remained silent, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as he thought. The car right was silent. I had my own to think about.

I missed Scarlett, but she was probably already in bed now. I wondered if she had Lestrade sing that french lullaby she liked. She had nightmares unless she was sung it. And what about that bloody kiss? What was that about. I mean surely I understand the need to sort of blend in, but that was a bit much, even for Sherlock.

I touched my still swollen lips. When I pried at the bite he had left, tingles zapped down through my body. I shivered, quickly dropping my hand. That was unexpected.

"Cheers." I said, handing the cabbie the money before hauling Sherlock from the car. When Sherlock was in his 'mind palace' he was in a complete daze, not even moving unless I lead him. Once we where in the flat I helped him out of his jacket, I took off his belt and shoes before leading him to the couch.

Setting his robe on the arm chair I went to bed. It was our usual routine. After a quick shower I laid in bed. Glancing at the door. It felt strange without Scarlett coming to complain about Sherlock being 'weird'. She hated when he didn't move and sometimes she'd come snuggle in my bed, terrified of her strange father. I sighed tossing and turning. I dozed in and out, before glaring at the clock. Four o'clock in the morning. I sighed, staring at the wall.

"John." Sherlock snapped, causing to nearly hit the ceiling. I flipped over, gasping for breath. I was hard to sneak up on, and as tall and careless as Sherlock was he could move like a ghost.

"I can't concentrate without Scarlett's incessant prattle." He said, his eyes burning in the darkness. I grinned, hopping off the bed.

"Funny, I can't sleep without her 'prattle' either." I said, slipping on my pants and jacket. I followed Sherlock out of the house, we waved down the only remaining taxi in London.

* * *

><p>As we pulled up to Lestrade's house the entire place was dark.<p>

"Should we knock?" I asked, but Sherlock was already bent down preparing to lock pick the door.

"Sherlock! He's an officer!" I hissed, but Sherlock ignored me. We stepped into the house, going up the stairs. It was hard to find Scarlett, each pair of boys had their own room. After the third door I sighed, preparing to tell Sherlock to just wake up Lestrade. I turned around but ...Sherlock had disappeared?

"Hands in the air." A deep voice growled. I stiffened when I felt the familiar cold metal of gun pressed into the back of my neck.

"I'm just looking for my little girl." I squeaked, peering over my shoulder. Lestrade was behind me, sleepy eyed and in sweat pants and a tee shirt. He blinked wearily.

"John?" He questioned, lowering his gun. His eyes sobered up.

"Did you ... break into my house?" He demanded. I gave a nervous laugh.

"Where is she?" Sherlock asked from behind Lestrade. Lestrade rubbed his eyes shaking his head.

"You both broke into my house?" He droned, bobbing his head with disbelief. He snorted rubbing his eye.

"Come on then, she's here." He said leading us down another grand hallway.

"Well, it seems Mycroft makes sure your children are well accommodated." Sherlock said smoothly. Lestrade's steps faltered and I felt my face scrunch up in confusion.

"Wait, your not actually saying that Lestrade and Mycroft are-" I laughed and then stopped walking altogether when Lestrade flushed, ducking his head.

"Oh God." I groaned as visuals flooded me. Lestrade tucked his chin to his chest, huffing.

"Can't keep you're bloody mouth shut." He grumbled under his breath, opening a door quietly. Jenny and Scarlett where sharing a bed. Scarlett's eyes snapped open as soon as the door opened and she grinned, slipping out of the bed she ran to us.

"Papa, Daddy." She whispered in relief in a hushed voice. Relief spread through me as I lifted her up. I clutched her against my, cradling her there.

"Oh, I've missed you." I sighed, nuzzling into her warm hair. She giggled, preening like a cat in the affection.

"Papa-" She sobbed, clutching my shirt. I looked over at Sherlock, who was glancing at us before returning his gaze to Lestrade.

"Thank you for watching her. I'll be sure to tell Mycroft so you can be rewarded." He smirked. Lestrade stuttered at the innuendo, glaring at Sherlock.

"Ungrateful sod." He snapped, he began to stomp off before glancing over his shoulder.

"Oi, lock my door before you go out." He said, shutting his door at the end of the hall.

* * *

><p>"Scarlett, will you stop talking! Honestly, how you get enough oxygen to your brain is one of my greatest mysteries!" Sherlock snapped. I came out of the kitchen, my eyes blazing. Scarlett had her head lowered, her eyes focused on the floor.<p>

"Don't talk to her like that." I said, my voice lethal. Sherlock looked up, raising an eyebrow.

"Like you said, she's my daughter-"

"I don't give a damn, don't speak to her like that again." I threatened, Sherlock's eyes danced over my features. He turned his head to Scarlett.

"I apologize, Scarlett. Will you be quiet so I can think, please." He asked, his voice much gentler. Scarlett nodded, coming to my side. I led her into the kitchen, finishing drying the dishes. Sherlock's phone rang and we listened to him answer it.

"What?" He hissed, he didn't answer the phone that way unless it was one person. Mycroft.

"The boy was fast, ridiculously fast. I've looked up track runners, and found a troupe of Olympic medalist in the area. I'd start with them." Sherlock said.

"Yes, yes. It was fine. The security of the house is ridiculous, I broke in within a minute." Sherlock informed. I ignored the rest of his conversation, talking to the still upset little girl. She peered up at me, hesitantly. Sherlock was so dominating, such a strong personality that it was making her into a bit of a- I hated to say it but she was a wimp.

"It's important Scarlett to listen to your elders, but don't let anyone step on you, you're not a welcome mat." I said, drying the dishes. I snorted to myself. I was one to talk, Sherlock bossed me around, but we held respect for each other. I knew he would never speak to me that way, I would bite his head off. He just was learning how to speak to children was all, this was a very sudden burden for him. I think he needed as many life lessons as Scarlett did.

"Daddy's feet where not on me, he had them on the floor." She informed. I was confused for a moment, giving her a strange look before doubling over in laughter. I set down the dish, coming to her side.

"No, love. That's not what I meant. Do you remember when those boys where elbowing you at the table? You shouldn't have moved, if that's where you wanted to sit. You should have told them to stop because they where hurting you. You have to stick up for yourself, I'm not always going to be around." I said, brushing a dark lock from her pale cheek. Adler's nose. Slender and elegant, she was going to be so lovely when she grew up.

"You will, Papa. You will be there." She said, her fingers in my jumper. I smiled, cupping her round cheek.

"I will be there for you, but you need to learn to stick up for yourself. Fight back, love." I said, standing. I went back to the dishes and looked over my shoulder.

"Cause' if you don't, no one else will."

* * *

><p>"Bloody hell, I'm tired." I groaned, collapsing on the couch. Sherlock looked over at me, slipping off his jacket. Another case solved, one involving scaling up the side of a mountain to find a cave with hidden exports. My fingers ached, I exhaled slowly. Mycroft would be dropping off Scarlett in a few hours. He'd absolutely loved the little girl, spoiling her rotten.<p>

Mycroft was a fan of elegance and beauty, something Scarlett had inherited from her parents. He was repulsed by her tomboyish clothes, instead choosing to dress her up like a doll in dresses and petticoats. Scarlett had taken my advice to heart, every day that passed she became feistier. The only one she submitted to was of course Sherlock, who she still idolized.

"The things you have me do, Sherlock." I laughed, still high off adrenaline. Sherlock touched my feet and I curled them up, I felt the couch creak with our combined weight.

"I don't know what I'd do without you." Sherlock whispered suddenly. I had almost not caught it since I was in mid yawn. I sat up, looking at him in shock.

"What do you mean?" I asked. Was the machine of a man Sherlock actually admitting to feeling? Sherlock stood, running a ragged hand through his already messy raven curls. He paced in front of me, his piercing eyes darting about, unable to focus.

"You and I, surely you must-" He cleared his throat, his back to me as he looked out the window. I'd never seen him so flustered. He was usually so eloquent, what was on his brilliant mind?

"Sherlock, what is it?" I urged gently. He looked over his shoulder and I nearly fell off the couch. Sherlock was _blushing_.

"I'm obviously not a good father," Sherlock began and I stopped him right there.

"No, no. Wait, that is wrong. You are a young father, perhaps inexperienced. But you are not, _not_ a bad father." I said, standing beside him and resting a hand on his shoulder. He swallowed thickly, looking out the window. Sherlock tried, harder than I ever saw him try with anything else. He was a bit rough around the edges but he loved Scarlett, and was very protective of her.

"I have feelings for you that are foreign to me." He continued, his voice cracking a bit. His eyes darted to mine filled with insecurity, like I'd never seen before. I was so shocked I took a step back. He quickly regained control over his emotions. His hand covered mine.

"Sherlock, I-"

"Let me finish." He said lowly, straightening his blazer. His eyes self consciously went to mine. Was Sherlock _nervous_?

"I've always felt something for you. I've never let anyone get so close to me," He seemed to think about that for a moment.

"Well, in a romantic sense, of course." He corrected, thinking of Scarlett. He then flushed again, his eyes snapping to mine, locking me in place.

"Not that I'm saying our friendship is romantic! It can be, if you want. That is, it would be a waste of time, and effort on both parts. The percentage of lifelong partnerships is tragic compared to lifelong friendships. But that's not the point." He sighed, rubbing his temples. He almost shouted the last part to himself, he inhaled a deep breath, looking over at me.

"I'm a coward." He said suddenly, making my eyes go wide. He turned away, I saw his fingers reach out for his violin, be he retracted them.

"I've had these feelings for you, for quite some time. I've managed too ... ignore them. But now I know you are attached to Scarlett, attached to me. Even if you do reject me, you'll stay for Scarlett because you love her." He said, his fingers trembling. He shoved them into his pockets, glancing at me over his broad shoulder.

"What exactly are you saying?" I asked, confusion and hope in my heart. So I wasn't exactly following, he'd spoken all of this rapidly, only pausing at some parts, when the words escaped him. What was Sherlock trying to say?

"I think-I know, well I don't _know._ I would need to run a series of test and collect enough data-"

"Sherlock." I reminded, and he cleared his throat.

"I want you to be involved in a physical relationship with me. Provided I have little knowledge. You would have to teach me some of the basic skills, but keep in mind I am a very fast learner. I've been doing some research on intercourse between homosexuals, but I've found that experimenting rather than studying is far more efficient-"

"Are you saying, you want to have sex with me?" I demanded, still not quite following. If only he'd slow down. His cheeks burned and he pulled his hands from his pockets, gripping my shoulders.

"No!" He cried, his eyes went to my own flushed cheeks and he lowered them to my lips.

"Well, yes. But not until the socially acceptable period. You, of course may need more time to adjust to the idea of us as- " His eyes landed on my lips and he licked his own unconsciously, he shook his head, continuing.

"I've waited years, I can wait some time longer." Sherlock finished, his fingers tightening on my shoulders before releasing. I felt like I was in a dream, a very scary, very lovely dream.

"Sherlock, I don't know what to say." I choked out, looking at my hands. The thought of me and Sherlock, in that way set my face a deep red. I imagined his thick lips parted in pleasure and whimpered, closing my eyes. I'm straight, I thought internally.

"I'm straight." I repeated out loud. Sherlock's face tightened and I felt like I'd broken something very fragile. I was being stupid. I loved Sherlock. I knew I did. Those years he was away, he was all I thought about. I was just- damn if I wasn't bloody scared.

"I need time to think about it. This is a big jump in our relationship, you'll give me time, won't you?" I asked, not believing my words. Why was I leading him on? I wasn't gay, I loved breasts! The thought of his slender pale chest beneath my lips sent shivers down my spine.

"I'll give you until tomorrow." He said, his eyes trained on me in annoyance. I groaned, rolling my eyes. Now this was a Sherlock I knew how to handle.

"You can't give me a fixed time to sort out my feelings." I pointed out, he scoffed, folding his hands behind his back.

"Irrelevant. If you can't decide in that time you obviously don't know what you want, therefore I will decide for you." He said, I saw his eyes light up slightly. He was hoping, Sherlock Holmes was hoping I'd be in a relationship with him. That brilliant mind could be mine forever. The thought was suddenly tantalizing before I quickly squashed it. This was my _friend_, for God's sake.

"I think you're misunderstanding friendship for love." I said, and knew as soon as I said it that I'd said the wrong thing. His eyes where like blue lightening when they struck me, his lip curled in disgust.

"Don't be daft. I can identify my own feelings, as putrid as they are!" He snarled, I felt my stomach knot at that.

"So you're saying your feelings for me are putrid?" I challenged. His eyes widened, the disgust vanishing.

"That's not what I meant." He said, trying to keep his voice stern. I heard the crack in it and resisted snickering.

"Nope, nope. I get it. I'm just the object of your _putrid_ affections." I called over my shoulder, going down to Speedy's to get lunch. He followed me.

"John, don't be an idiot. You know-"

"Oh! So now I'm an idiot? I can really feel the putrid love now, Sherlock!" I spat with fake anger. He followed behind me closely. His hands fluttering over my shoulders, afraid to touch me.

"John, if you would just _listen_-" He cried. I laughed down the stairs, leaving him to sulk behind me.


	5. Chapter 5

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

Sherlock was playing the violin when I got back from shopping. The groceries where heavy so I rested them by the door. Sherlock's robe floated at his ankles as he swayed to the music that flowed from his instrument. Scarlett was bundled up in a blanket at his feet, her eyes wide as she looked up in amazement at her father. She practically worshiped the man.

This scene was nothing new, it was one of their usual bonding moments. Sherlock would play her favorite pieces, and she would stare up at him, or gaze out the window. It was a strange moment. Too see the two most eccentric, energized people I know sitting quietly in a room. It was as if they were strange creatures being lulled into a calm by the music.

I shuffled passed them, getting a start on dinner.

* * *

><p>"Papa, don't you love Daddy?" Scarlett asked, Sherlock had her propped on his knee. He was giving me that infuriating over the top pout that was sarcastic. I pressed the palms of my hands to my eyes, groaning. Sherlock's newest case was to force me into a relationship with him. Well I say force. It was more like bully.<p>

"Yes, John. Don't you love me?" Sherlock asked, leaning back into the couch. He steepled his fingers but it was hard to look cool when you had a four year old french girl giggling as she slipped off your knee and into your lap. He little legs flung in the air.

"There are different types of love, _children_." I said, letting my head tick in annoyance at the last word. Sherlock raised an eyebrow, smirking behind his fingers.

"Do elaborate." He said, glancing down at his twin. It was like everything sweet, lovely, kind, and innocent had been sucked out of his body and morphed into a little girl. Scarlett was looking at me with Sherlock's identical eyes, wide and curious. The ones above her were narrow and amused.

"Well, you see. Sometimes you love someone like a family member, how I love you Scarlett. Or how I love Mrs. Hudson, or my sister, or Sherlock. Then their are other loves, like how you love your friends. Like I love Lestrade," All amusement in Sherlock's eyes vanished, and he sat up, removing Scarlett from his lap as he bent forward. His eyes where so focused on me I felt myself flush.

"Or Mycroft." I added for measure. Sherlock snorted, sitting back.

"And the other?" He asked, crossing his legs. Scarlett was barely paying attention. Instead she was humming quietly to herself as she dangled over the side of the couch.

"Love, like you ... love. Oh, hell, I don't know. How a man loves a woman! Romantic love." I tried, this caught Scarlett's attention.

"Don't be a bigot John. Are you trying to teach my daughter that their can't be love between two men or two woman?" Sherlock asked, his eyes dancing. Oh fantastic, I walked right into that one!

"No, no. That's not what I said." I used my hands to emphasis this, Scarlett sat on her knees beside her father, two against one.

"Romantic love? The one to break the princess in a curse?" Scarlett said, and I nodded.

"Yes! Thank you! That one, the romantic one, is for a princess and her ... significant other. It's the strongest love there is." I said, groaning when both eyes narrowed at me identically.

"You don't love Daddy the strongest, John?" Scarlett demanded, clutching her fathers hand. Oh I had really done it now. She only used my name when she was truly angry. I dropped my head into my hands.

"Christ, that's not-"

"What is a Prince to do when his Princess won't cooperate?" Sherlock asked her, the mirth clear in his voice. Scarlett gasped, offended.

"Sherlock!" I snapped, both of their gazes froze me.

"This is ridiculous." I pointed out.

"What about me, Papa? You love me the most then, correct?" Scarlett demanded, crawling from the couch and coming to rest her hands on my knees. I sighed, raising my finger.

"Now Scarlett, you're misunderstanding."

"Don't be ridiculous. Johns feelings towards me are the strongest." Sherlock said from the couch, I raised my head to him in disbelief. Scarlett turned to look at him in outrage.

"You are _not_ fighting with your five year old daughter over this." I groaned in disbelief.

"Papa, tell Daddy that you love me the most." She ordered, her eyes narrowing at her father. I threw my hands in the air when Sherlock stood.

"Consulting five year old!" I shouted, he ignored me.

"He doesn't love you that way. He loves you because you are a part of me, don't you see?" Sherlock asked, completely serious.

"Right, well. I'm going out, you two can sort this on your own." I said, sliding away from the aghast Scarlett.

"He doesn't chanter you to sleep!" She said, throwing an accusing finger at him. Chanter meant sleep, I believe. I was picking up on a bit of french. Scarlett yelled in it when she got angry. Sherlock snorted, giving her a cocky grin.

"Don't be childish, I've kissed John before." Sherlock said childishly. I rubbed my forehead, shutting the door behind me.

"Papa, let me kiss you!" Scarlett called in french, I ran down the steps to get away from the children.

* * *

><p>I stretched out in my bed, grunting as my arm bumped a small warm body. Scarlett. Must have had a nightmare again. I yawned, rolling onto my side and draping an arm over her. The explosion from downstairs ripped me from my fading consciousness. Scarlett jerked awake in my arms, I jumped over her scrambling down the stairs.<p>

"Sherlock!" I screamed, skidding to a halt as I barreled into the kitchen. Small feet pattered behind me.

"Daddy!" Scarlett cried. My mouth was agape as I stood there. Sherlock was covered in from head to chest in what looked like blue jelly. His lips where quirked downwards in a scowl. His usually curly hair was flattened against his head. I felt a laugh bubble from my lips. Some of the beaker glass which had exploded left a little scrape on his cheek. Other than that he was unharmed.

"You spilled my beaker filled with chemicals and replaced it with water." Sherlock concluded, glaring at Scarlett over my shoulder. Her tiny fingers were pressed to her lips.

"Yes." She squeaked. I couldn't help it. I doubled over, clutching my knees as a droplet of blue good dropped from Sherlock's hair. He gave me an annoyed look and prepared to make a sharp remark when Scarlett let out a few giggles of her own. Mrs. Hudson limped up the stairs beside me, I moved over to allow her acess to see.

"Is everyone alright- Sherlock!" She laughed, and we held onto each other. Scarlett's giggles increased. I couldn't help but notice Sherlock had a small smile of his own on his lips.

* * *

><p>Months passed before anything new happened. Our lives where thrilling at work and then domestic at home. The change was rapid and strange but for us it fit. Sherlock was sitting in his chair, his long legs tapping the air impatiently as he spoke.<p>

"Eleven weeks. Three days," He glanced at the clock. " Eight hours. You still haven't answered my question." Sherlock said, his head dropping to examine the suddenly fascinating length of his bow. Scarlett was at Lestrade's, playing with Jenny.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, only half paying attention. My book was just getting to the good part. Sherlock stood, pacing before me.

"Do try and keep up, John." He said briskly. I closed my book with a sigh, setting it down. Between him and Scarlett I never got my reading done.

"Our relationship." He admonished, his eyes skirting to mine. I looked away, the intensity too much.

"It's gone nowhere." He huffed, folding his arms behind his back as he gazed out the window.

"You're still on that? You need to find yourself a girlfriend, mate." I joked. Sherlock's body went taunt and mine did in return. I hadn't realized until Lestrade pointed it out offhandedly. However Sherlock moved, I followed. His emotions directly influenced mine, and the same went for him. If I laughed at a terrible joke, Sherlock's lips would quirk to try and join me. If I saw Sherlock tensing up from being called something cruel, I felt my own body react the same. We were two halves of the same person.

"You're mocking me." He rasped, whipping around. I shrunk back from the sudden onslaught of his gaze. Rarely did I get Sherlock undivided attention, and when I did it was almost too much.

"I didn't-"

"Either that, or you are being insecure. No that's not it. You aren't taking this seriously. You think I'm a joke. How I feel about you isn't something you'd ever honestly consider, so you're trying to brush it off, hoping I'll forget." Sherlock deduced aloud. No emotion was expressed on his face, but the small tilt of his eyes to the floor where enough for me. I knew Sherlock well enough to know when he was hurt, and the soft dazed look nearly sent me over the edge.

"Sherlock. You are wrong." I said, standing up. I shifted close to him. My hands reaching up to his shoulders.

"I'm taking you seriously, I am. I've thought about it, _about us_, constantly." I whispered, his eyes met mine and the relief was instant. Sherlock wasn't dependent, he wouldn't do something as foolish as pretending not to believe me just to get my attention. His shoulders loosened beneath my hands.

"Then you've come to the conclusion to reject me?" He said, his eyes burning. My hands slipped from his shoulders, and we both shivered as they swept down his broad chest. The blue in his iris nearly turning translucent as they lightened.

"No." I answered honestly. I stumbled back, and he followed. I winced as my back bumped into the solid wall. The world seemed suddenly so very minuscule. Our faces were much too close, his hands kept brushing the soft undersides of my forearms.

"Then, you accept?" He asked, trailing one of his slender fingers to the hallow of my elbow. Why couldn't I have worn a thick knitted jumper? Anything to prevent me from this very distracting movement. Beads of sweat started to gather on my brow.

"No." I wavered, it sounded much less sure than the first no. That wasn't right, was it. I had to tilt my head back, he was so close now. Our breaths mingled and I pushed myself flat against the wall. My eyelids flickered shut as he loosely cradled my wrist. Heartbeat, he was checking my heartbeat.

"Sherlock." I nearly sobbed. I could pull away. I knew he would feel my pulse racing beneath my skin, see my pupils blown.

"Fascinating." He murmured, he bent by my collar. I let out a small puff of breath when he brushed his lips over the tender spot beneath my ear.

"Sherlock, stop it." I was trembling. One of my hands came up to fist in his dress shirt. The buttons dug into my palm, I prepared to push him back. I needed him away from me, he felt like a drug when he was too near. My mind was muddled.

"John." My name had never been caressed before. It came from deep in his chest, a soft breath upon his lips. Christ, he was even making me think weird. I flattened my palm, preparing to shove him away.

"Ugh." I grunted, slipping my arm around his shoulder to pull him closer. His warm tongue slide across my collar, nipping tauntingly before kissing away the ache. Too much. My head felt fuzzy. I groaned, my toes curling in delight when he dipped his tongue into my collar before scraping his teeth over the skin stretched taunt over the bone. I did it. I reached up, forcing our lips together. His smug smirk did nothing to deter my arousal. I had to step on my tip toes when he straightened, his eyes half amused half smoldering. The combination sent sparks of lust jolting down my spine.

"Say you want a relationship with me." He demanded. His eyes, nearly silver in the light. I tried to shake loose the fog surrounding my mind. I blinked up at him owlishly, trying to sort my thoughts. I was burning, my entire body alight. When he first asked me to start the relationship with him, one of my first thoughts had been I wasn't gay. I'd assumed a sexual relationship would be impossible, the erection straining at my pants seemed to rebuke that.

"I'm not a patient man, John." Sherlock growled into my neck, nipping in warning. I gasped, crying out as my back arched. Sherlock fondled me through the heavy jean fabric, his lips sucking greedily at my throat. Hickeys, he was giving me hickeys!

"Alright-Okay!" I folded, I never was good at denying Sherlock. Even when he used underhanded schemes to get his way. I tightened my hold on him as we kissed, our tongues colliding to send pleasure rippling throughout my entire being.

* * *

><p>"John, have a look at this." Sherlock called. I looked up from my conversation with Lestrade. Walking over I crouched by my partner. As far as Sherlock was concerned, we were partners in more ways than one.<p>

"Wow." I said, beneath the mans shirt where hundreds of holes. Pricks littered his back no bigger than the width of a needle.

"He bled to death." I whispered, judging by his ashen skin color. But the pin pricks, surely they couldn't be the cause. Lestrade bent down beside Sherlock.

"Found him posed on a bench, made to look like he was waiting for a bus. Took a while for people to realize he was dead- Is that a hickey!" Lestrade yelped, jumping back from Sherlock as if he was on fire. Sherlock and I both froze in sync. Shit. The entire squad huddled around, Lestrade pulled off Sherlock's scarf. I winced, I'd been rougher than I'd intended. The marks littered his pale throat in large purple splotches. I lifted my collar, trying to hide my identical ones.

"Who's the lucky girl?" Lestrade laughed. His eyes twinkled with honest happiness. I lowered my gaze, as others made speculative comments.

"Probably a freak, if they want anything do with this psycho." Anderson's nasally voice caught my attention and I glared at him.

"Out with it, Sherlock." Donovan smiled tauntingly. Sherlock ignored them, pulling his scarf back around his throat.

"Freshman in Uni, studying to become a veterinarian." Sherlock started. Rattling off a bunch of information that effectively stopped the teasing. I was hardly paying attention, I pulled up my collar more, flushed. What if they made the connection? Sherlock must have been on a roll today, because people where looking at him in amazement, even more so than usual. I tuned in.

"You got that from a hangnail?" Lestrade said dubiously. Sherlock continued.

"The scent of flowers is still subtle on his hands. He has a girlfriend, not a long relationship or he wouldn't be bothering with flowers. Unless of course its the off chance of it being her birthday, although an unlikely gift for a girl his age." Sherlock commented, his eyes intense on the corpse.

"Right, we'll look around the shops and call you if anything comes up." Lestrade said. Sherlock nodded to me. I saw him subtly slip something out of the mans pocket and prepare to slip it into his own. He wasn't as subtle as he thought, and some people where still watching him.

"Lestrade!" I called when he turned to say something else to Sherlock. Lestrade looked up and I allowed my collar to fall in humiliation. His eyes went wide.

"No bloody way!" He laughed, the team huddled around me. Sherlock got what he needed from the corpse, plucking some hairs from his head and wiping his hands on a handkerchief. Lestrade would never let him tamper with evidence like that. I was the perfect distraction.

"You and Sherlock?" He asked, a smile going wide over his tan face.

"Not what it looks like, we got in a row and were throttling each other." I lied, Lestrade raised an eyebrow at the obvious falsehood. Sherlock stood coming to stand at my side.

"Let's go, John." He said, wrapping a possessive arm around my waist and leaving the group to gossip behind us.

"Sherlock! You do know he's going to tell your brother, right?" I asked, pushing away from him. He used his height advantage to wave down a cab.

"He knew before you did." Sherlock said, maneuvering me into the car with a smirk.


	6. Chapter 6

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

Sherlock and I somehow became a couple. Not the sappy, 'Oh darling, I love you' kind of couple though, mind you. But we where officially in a relationship. No one really knew. Lestrade had thought we were joking and still made comments that even I had to admit where pretty funny, but Sherlock didn't like being teased. Mycroft was even desperately trying to figure out if we were together. For a month straight Sherlock had to scower the house every day for a new recorder or camera. We shared kisses, and snogged when Sherlock wanted too. But we never made the final step. Sex.

"Where could the pricks have come from?" I asked, sitting on the couch. Sherlock had his fingers steepled. His eyes where narrow as he thought. He was in his mind palace, or at least I thought he was.

"Papa, can we go shopping for presents?" Scarlett asked, climbing into my lap. I nodded, stroking her hair.

"Sure, let's go." I said. At the store Scarlett waked up and down the isles I led her to. She didn't have any interest in the dolls or princess sets.

"What is it you're looking for?" I asked, her hand clutched mine as she lowered her eyes. Christmas was in a few weeks, we'd yet to get presents.

"I don't know." She said shyly. We passed the boys section and I saw her eyes lock onto a fake pirate sword.

"A pirate sword?" I asked, she looked at me in terror before quickly ducking her head.

"That's a boys toy." She snapped, the older she got the more her mannerisms became like Sherlocks. The authority in her voice, the sharpness in her eyes was becoming more and more like him.

"I play tea party with you. That doesn't make me a girl, does it?" I asked, crouching down to her level. She tugged at my sleeve, and poked out her bottom lip.

"No." She said slowly. I frowned, dragging my thumb over her plump cheek.

"What's wrong, who told you that you couldn't play with boy toys?" I asked, she shuffled her feet, sighing.

"Georgie and Trenton where both calling me names for playing with their pirate ships." She said softly, looking anywhere but my eyes. I frowned, the boys where Lestrade's two rambunctious twins.

"Don't listen to them, sweetie. You can play with any toy you like. I played dolls with my sister when I was little, she used to tease me too. But I loved playing with her because we had fun together. Don't let anyone tell you that you can't play with something because it's for a boy or girl." I said, brushing a lock from her face. She smiled, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

"I love you, Papa." She said gently. I returned the hug, kissing her cheek.

"I love you too, mon cherie." I grinned, she winced at my terrible french accent and chastised me the rest of our shopping trip.

* * *

><p>"Three major macromolecules essential in all lifeforms?" Sherlock asked aloud. Scarlett was sitting on the edge of the table cluttered kitchen table. Lab experiments where littered all over it. Her legs dangled, and my shirt hung from her slim shoulder sloppily. She kicked her feet, thinking before answering.<p>

"DNA, RNA, and proteins." She answered. Sherlock looked up from his microscope to give her a dull look.

"Be serious." He said in annoyance. She flushed and quickly fixed her answer. I looked up from my over my cup, scowling.

"Ribonucleic acid and-and Deoxyribonucleic acid?" She fumbled, straining against her french vowels. Sherlock gave her a satisfied nod, not looking up.

"The heaviest stable atoms mass?" He questioned. He frowned when she paused.

"You can't be serious. I don't even know that!" I snapped. Sherlock slide an impatient glance to his daughter.

"I knew that when I was half her age." He answered, twisting a knob on his microscope. Scarlett bit her lip.

"She's four!" I snorted. He looked up at me dully.

"Exactly." He sat up straight, giving her his undivided attention. She looked away from his gaze, frantic for the answer.

"Lead-208." She answered. He blew out a puff of air in irritation.

"The weight, Scarlett, not the matter." He said, his scolding gaze fixed on her. She closed her eyes concentrating for a moment before snapping them open with a bright smile.

"207.9766521 u." She chirped. Sherlock offered her a smile, ducking back down to his microscope.

"Very good." He commented, and I'd thought she might swoon off the table.

* * *

><p>"This is my daughter. Scarlett Watson." I said, looking down at the tiny old woman. She smiled at me, her winkled eyes shining blue.<p>

"What a pretty girl." The woman gurgled, Scarlett ignored the compliment. She was far more concerned with the vague comments her father gave her on her intellect, she cared far more about her intelligence than her looks. She was a Holmes down to the core.

"I'd like to enroll her into Kindergarden." I said, her hand clutched my sleeve. Her face partially hidden behind my thigh.

"Of course, let me get you the forms." The old woman wobbled away. I leaned against the counter, and Scarlett tugged on my sleeve.

"I don't want to go to a German garden." She said, her slender eyebrows knitting together. I blinked, was kinder German?

"You have too, it's important you learn so you can become an intelligent adult like your father." I said. Sherlock and I had decided it was best that Scarlett be enrolled under my name, Holmes was a very dangerous and rare last name. If anyone found out who she belonged too, the results could be devastating.

"Daddy can teach me." She said, reaching up for me to lift her in my arms. Picking her up I set her on the counter, she refused to let go of my hands.

"Don't you want to play with other kids?" I asked, and she scowled.

"No." She said, I rolled my eyes. She liked Jenny, but she wasn't fond of the Lestrade's rowdy sons. One boy she liked, I think his name was Toby. He was the quietest and youngest of the boys.

"Jenny goes to this school, at lunch you can play with her." I tried. The clinic I worked at was also right down the road, I could come and pick her up within a few minutes if needed.

"I want to stay with you and Daddy." She said firmly. I lifted my eyes heavenward, stubborn as her father.

"Here you go, Mr. Watson." The old woman's shaky voice pulled me from my thoughts. I thanked her.

* * *

><p>Her first day of school I dressed her in a comfortable and pretty light blue dress which brought out the color of her eyes. Wrapping her in a black coat I pulled a white scarf around her neck, adding a ribbon in her hair. She did love ribbons.<p>

"Look how beautiful you are." I grinned. Her thick eyelashes fluttered over her stunning glassy eyes. Red lips pursed as I put on her shoes, she hated shoes. She would run around London barefoot if I let her. She glanced in the mirror.

"I don't want to go." She said, pouting. I was glad she was speaking her mind more, but the obedience had been nice.

"I know, but it's a part of growing up." I said, buttoning her coat. She glared at the ground, taking my hand.

"Sherlock, let's go." I called. He didn't look up from the file in his lap.

"I'm not going." He said flatly, I felt my hand clench and quickly released Scarlett.

"Scarlett, why don't you go down to the cafe and get a scone?" I asked. She nodded, trotting down the stairs.

"This is your daughters first day of school, you are going." I snapped, throwing his coat over his lap, along with his scarf. He shoved them both off the files, continuing his reading. Reaching down I pulled them from his lap. He caught my wrist, his eyes flaming.

"Don't interrupt my work." He snarled in my face. Some boyfriend he was. I jerked from his hold, crouching before him like I did with Scarlett when I needed to explain something to her.

"This is your daughters only first day of school she will ever have. She is scared and she needs both of us there with her. Do you understand how important this is, Sherlock?" I asked, my voice straining to relay this very important, if not pedestrian matter to him. He didn't grasp concepts like this. It wasn't his area.

"She'll have a thousand days in school. Three thousand five hundred and ten to be exact. Not including the days she may take off for illness or trips. I don't see how today is important." Sherlock protested. I rubbed my temples, resting my hands on his knees I leaned up. Carefully I pressed my lips to his, he leaned forward trying to follow me as I sat back on my heels.

"It's important, to both of us that your are there. Please come, Sherlock." I murmured. His eyes scanned mine like a computer would a virus. He tilted his head a fraction, pulling up his jacket and scarf.

"Shall we?" He said, dropping his head to catch another kiss before walking swiftly passed me.

* * *

><p>"Oh God, I'm nervous." I tapped my fingers repeatedly over my thigh, listening to the young teacher blabber on and on about how she would teach the kids. Sherlock was watching Scarlett out the large window. I followed his gaze. Two little boys where pulling on the ribbon I put in her hair, laughing as she covered her red face in embarrassment. Of course she would be tormented, she was the most stunning little girl there.<p>

I stood abruptly, causing my chair to screech back. Sherlock gripped my arm, hauling me back into my seat as everyone went quiet t stare at us for a moment before returning to the nonsense speech.

"She's being bullied!" I hissed through clenched teeth. I was not above knocking a little snot nosed runt flat on his ass, and I fully intended too when Sherlock released me. Jenny and Lestrade weren't there for the orientation, since Jenny was a already in second grade.

"She can handle it herself." Sherlock said coldly. I let my mouth fall open in disbelief. Scarlett was too young, too shy to possibly fight back. Sherlock didn't know how sweet and innocent she was, sure she was spunky sometimes but she was still learning. He didn't understand. I almost screamed at him when another little boy came up. He looked older than the others, perhaps Jenny's age. He appeared casual as he nodded to the boys, speaking to Scarlett in what appeared a calm voice. Her shoulders straightened and she turned to the boys, obviously yelling at them. They turned, walking away while shooting daggers over their shoulders. I relaxed into my seat.

"Thank God." I sighed, silently thanking the boy who'd come to help her toughen up. He was a handsome lad. Short brown-blonde hair stuck up messily, his brown eyes where soft but had been hard earlier as he approached the group. Sherlock was tense as he looked at the boy, his eyes scanning.

"What's wrong?" I asked Sherlock. Sherlock shook his head, the boy glanced through the window where Scarlett was pointing at the both of us. With his hands stuffed into his jean pockets and the half smile he gave, I suddenly had a flash of recognition but it quickly vanished. He looked like somebody I knew.

"Nothing, just the lighting." Sherlock said, reclining back in his seat.

* * *

><p>Christmas was in a few days and I'd yet to get Scarlett the sword she wanted or the chemistry set from Sherlock for her. For Sherlock I was getting Molly's permission for him to have four hours with a cadaver, and a couple of vials of diseased blood I had managed to swipe from work for him to examine. A huge case was still going on. The man with the flower scented hands was surrounded in mystery. Sherlock had of course sent the Police to the flower shops, while the real flowers had been from the nearby countryside. He was sure that he had almost discovered the truth. We'd taken a road trip, the three of us.<p>

"Are we almost there?" Scarlett asked for the thousandth time.

"No." Sherlock answered in annoyance, his knees tucked up to his chin. Scarlett flopped over in the back seat, whining.

"Papa, I'm hungry." She called, unlike her father her appetite was borderline shocking. She was an endless pit.

"Sherlock, will you get her the mix in the bag at your feet." I asked, keeping my eyes on the road. Sherlock glanced down, ignoring me.

"Sherlock." I warned. He sighed heavily, as if I was asking him to take on a huge burden. He rifled through the bag, pulling out the mix.

"Sherlock, look." I gasped, causing him to look up. A group of men where waiting in large black vans on the secluded road, blocking us from going further. Sherlock's breath became rapid.

"Turn around John." Sherlock ordered, the road was narrow. I managed it barely. We drove as fast as we could. The men pulled out a a strange gun I didn't recognize.

"Sherlock!" I screamed. It was the war all over again. Screaming, pain, burning. The crunch of metal screeched in my ears. The world vanished to black. What felt like days later, I opened my eyes, my ears ringing.

"Daddy." A soft voice sobbed. I looked up, clutching my head. The car was just a crushed form of metal, smoking and burning. Scarlett's tee shirt was blood and ripped. Her shorts stained and her knees where caked in the oil from the crushed car she'd climbed out of. Sherlock was bleeding from his head, his lip busted and his eyes closed. his face was heavily bruised.

"Sherlock." I rasped, scrambling over to him. I pressed my fingers into his neck, Scarlett clung to my arm, sobbing.

"I'm scared." She cried, rocking against my arm.

"It's okay, he's just unconscious." I croaked, sulfur sticking in my throat as I carefully maneuvered her out of the way.

"I have to stop the bleeding Scarlett, everything will be okay." I told her, but I could barely see through my tears. Sherlock looked broken. His usually graceful body was angled oddly. The smoke from the wreckage burned my eyes. I checked for fractures, his arms and legs were fine. His rib was bruised, I could tell by his strained breathing. A small noise caught my attention.

"Scarlett, it'll be ok-" I stood up whirling around. I placed my legs on either side of Sherlock's torso, crouching over him like a protective animal while I pulled the gun from the back of my pants.

"Let her go." I rasped, feeling my hands tremble. The gun rattled against my finger tips. The man held her to his chest, two more burly men on either side. All three had guns aimed at me.

"I don't think so. You've been meddling, our boss doesn't like prying." That sounded familiar. Moriarty. I was shaking.

"Put her down, and we won't ever come after you again." I whispered, my throat raspy from the smoke and sobbing. Scarlett was crying, her tears leaving trails down her pale cheeks. She looked so little and fragile in the goons arms. His hand was clamped harshly over her mouth.

"I don't think so, we might need some insurance. Sherlock Holmes isn't exactly known for cooperating." The man shouldered the girl, turning around. I ran forward but the guns clicking stopped me. The smoke rolled into my throat, gagging me.

"That's my daughter, he won't care if you take her. I'm his lover, take me." I lied, my voice frantic enough for them to belief me. The man glanced between me and her. He pulled his hand off her mouth for a second.

"Papa!" She screamed, scrambling against the mans hold to reach me. I felt myself go slack, thank god she said that. Sherlock's face was bloodied enough where they wouldn't recognize the resemblance. We'd done a good job of keeping Sherlock's daughter a secret from criminals. We played it off that she was Mrs. Hudson's granddaughter. But we couldn't keep the secret for long.

"Take me, he'll do anything you want if you have me." I said, dropping the gun to the ground. I walked forward and the men released her. She ran back to Sherlock, and I was lead to the car.

"Papa!" She cried, torn between staying with her injured father or chasing me.

"Stay there Scarlett! Stay there!" I screamed over my shoulder. The men stuffed me into the dark van, separating me from my family.


	7. Chapter 7

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

I grunted, rolling on my side in agony. Moriarty called off the men, leaving me bloodied and crumpled on the floor. My hands where bound securely behind my back, a blind fold blocked out any vision. I was surrounded by darkness, constantly.

"You see Johnny boy, all I want is a little information. Who is that little girl, she's _adorable_." Moriarty's voice snaked into my ears. He was crouched beside my body. I jerked, breathing heavily.

"My daughter, her mother was a woman I had a tryst with a few years back. She died and Scarlett showed up on my doorstep." I gasped for air, my ribs where bruised and maybe even broken. I felt blood seep from my mouth onto the cold concrete beneath my cheek.

"I want to believe you, I really do. But you see, according to this file the little runt happened to be living in Paris with her father for a few years. Ring any bells? I kept an eye on you, John. You weren't in Paris." Moriarty was grinning as he pulled off my blind fold, his dark eyes lethal. the room was small with one door and completely made of concrete.

"But I know someone who was." He sang, pinching my cheek. I spat on his suit and his eyes narrowed.

"I was so curious who the brat belonged too. Those eyes were just so familiar! You must understand my interest here, they where practically twins! I just had to reunite the family, Irene was in the way." Moriarty stood, turning on his heel flamboyantly.

"You killed Irene Adler." I whispered. He'd killed Irene so that Scarlett would be sent to her true father, she'd been led right to Sherlock. The entire thing was a set up. I dropped my forehead on the concrete with a sob.

"Of course, I did. She didn't want to give me the girl." Moriarty said, inspecting his nail beds. I felt my entire body tense.

"Why would you ever think that she'd _give_ you her daughter?" I grounded out, something was off. I was missing something. It was times like these I wished I was Sherlock, he would have known. Moriarty tsked, lifting me up by the ragged edge of my shirt. He leaned me back on the wall, his hand trailing my chest.

"You're so _dull_. Think, John. Irene Adler, the only woman in the world who could ever get close to our little Sherlock. I had her practically rape him, and he loved it. You should have heard him moan Johnny boy, I watched it all on DVD. Would you like to see?" Moriarty laughed as I snarled, lurching forward only to fall on my face. Struggling up to my knees, I'd never felt so much hatred for someone in my life.

"I created Scarlett, Irene would never do something so boring as to get pregnant accidentally. The plan was for her to spawn the Holmes child. I'd been hoping for a boy, but hey 'you win some you loose some'. The twerp was supposed to be raised by me, the perfect weapon against the Holmes brothers. Irene had to go all soft and run away to Paris with my creation." Moriarty sighed, I was yelling obscenities. Things I didn't even realize I was saying. But Moriarty kept speaking, his eyes smoldering with delight.

"But that's okay. I had plenty of time, once she becomes my little pet she'll help me to bring the world to it's knees. You have to admit she is sharp, with a little TLC she may even outwit the Holmes brothers. Irene did have some cunning in her weak, pitiful body." Moriarty speculated. I thrashed on the floor, the rage hurt. It hurt so much to be helpless like this.

"You're a monster!" I roared, clawing at my restraints. Moriarty made an annoyed noise in the back of his throat.

"So I've been told." He commented, slithering out of the concrete room.

* * *

><p>Days morphed into weeks. Weeks into months. I couldn't tell if I'd been in the room for a month or a year. The walls blocked out any sort of natural light. I had a single light bulb dangling in front of me. Moriarty visited rarely. Only to taunt me, never for any purpose. I was always secured when he entered the room, but released afterwards. I had a small cot they drug in the corner of the room, and a pot to go to the bathroom. Food was brought to be regularly. It was hell. The only thought that kept me go was that it was for Scarlett. Imagining the little girl in my place, crying, begging for me or Sherlock was enough to silence and misgivings I had for days.<p>

"Dinner." A man's gruff voice called. I looked up dazedly, lost in my thoughts. The only thing I had in this hell hole. The beatings had stopped, but if I pissed off the guards they made sure to teach me a lesson. I still had a black eye from the last time I'd tried to make a run for it. I blinked up at this guard, like the rest he was wearing a mask and all black. Moriarty kept his goons well covered up because he knew he could never reuse them if I saw their faces even once.

"You're new." I muttered under my breath, taking the tray. The man looked down at me and I dropped the tray.

"Be quiet." Sherlock whispered, leaning out the door for a moment.

"Bastard bite me! I'll be out in a minute, after I knock his teeth in!" Sherlock's voice was so different. The guard outside chuckled and shut the door. Sherlock turned around wrapping and arm around me. I sobbed, kissing frantically at his mouth.

"Sherlock!" I gasped over and over again between kissing him. I was sure I smelt terrible and hadn't brushed my teeth on anything other than a napkin. But I was beyond embarrassment. Sherlock kissed me tenderly, resting his forehead against mine, my entire body trembled beneath his steady hands.

"You're okay, John? Say you're okay." His eyes, usually so calculated and sure where damp. He was worried about me. I offered a shaky smile as his large, pale hands fluttered up and down my arms, checking for superficial injuries.

"I'm okay." I answered, tucking my head beneath his chin. I pulled him into a hug, just hearing him breath was enough.

"I have to hit you." He said suddenly, and I flinched back, confused.

"What?" I asked, dumbfounded. His eyes had hardened back into place, Sherlock Holmes never could reveal his emotions for long.

"I told the guard I could beat you, something superficial on your face should be enough." He commented, cradling my cheek. I was shaking again, but not from happiness this time.

"You're leaving me." I whispered, and Sherlock's body tensed. He gave a curt nod.

"I have too, I'm calling Mycroft to help me infiltrate this base. You don't know how hard it's been to find you John." Sherlock said, brushing my hair from my forehead. It was nearly an inch longer than I usually kept it.

"How long?" I asked in a desperate squeak. He dropped his head, kissing me so gently my nerves stilled. I was a solider, I could handle this.

"A day, two at most." He answered, he rested his forehead against mine.

"You won't abandon me." I said, more to myself than to him. His eyes narrowed at the words.

"Never."

* * *

><p>I slept the first day, and true to his word the second I heard panic in the hallways. People where screaming, and then silence. The rescue team had gone right passed my cell. The door opened at that thought, a disgruntled Moriarty stood.<p>

"Get up!" He shouted, ripping me from the floor. I gasped as he pressed the gun into my back. He drug me up a stair well. The roof. I tried fighting back, but he dug the gun deeper.

"Me and you, Johnny. Till the end." He chuckled into my ear. We stood on the roof, I guessed he was waiting for a helicopter.

"I always wondered how you managed to pull off that stunt when we were last on a rooftop. You seem to be quite the accomplished magician." Sherlock's voice rung out. He'd removed the mask, standing in an outfit that reminded me of a uniform the SWAT team might wear in the states. All black armor made his pale skin stand out even more. Moriarty's grip tightened around my waist. He hooked his chin on my shoulder from behind. I saw Sherlock's shoulders stiffen and his jaw clench.

"I'll tell as soon as you spill about how you managed to survive a jump from; what eighty feet? Impressive, even for you Sherlock." Moriarty taunted. Sherlock gave him a tight lipped smile, I could hear a chopper approaching.

"Let him go." Sherlock said, all amusement vanishing from his face when he heard the helicopters approach. If I got on that helicopter, I wouldn't see Sherlock for a very long time, maybe even never.

"I don't think so. I thought he was being a little sure o himself when he said he was your lover, but that's not quite right is it. He's more than that, you _love him_." Moriarty grinned. I felt vomit rise in my throat as he groped my hips. He rolled his groin into my bottom, and I looked down in shame. This was humiliating. I gritted my teeth, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill. Moriarty tossed his head back with a cheap moan from behind me.

"So firm! Maybe on the chopper ride, I can get a checkup. How does that sound, Doctor-" I whirled around, punching him in the face. He stumbled back, and I knocked the gun from his hand. Scrambling to go get it, I heard Sherlock fire off a few shots. The helicopter was already back in the sky when I picked up the gun.

"He got away!" I spat, almost throwing the gun on the ground but quickly realizing how dangerous that would be.

"John, it's okay-"

"No it's not! It's not okay! I was tortured Sherlock!" I screamed, running my hands through my greasy hair. I was in a frenzy. I hysterically choked back another cry, and pulled at my hair.

_He got away, I wasn't safe. He got away, I wasn't safe. He got away, I wasn't - _

"John." Sherlock breathed, pulling me into a gentle hug. I collapsed into his arms, crying on his shoulder.

_I was safe._

* * *

><p>"How long was I ... held?" I asked, waking up on the groggy flight home. Moriarty had taken me to Germany. I'd fallen asleep on Sherlock, freshly showered with clothes that weren't soiled. I'd never remembered feeling so good, so happy. I rested my forehead on Sherlock's shoulder and he didn't complain.<p>

"Four months, five days, seven hours." He answered. I winced.

"I missed Scarlett's birthday." I frowned. He snorted a chuckle, shaking his head.

"You would think of something like that as important." He tried to insult, but it came out more affectionate than I think he intended. I gripped his hand greedily, he allowed me too, looking straight forward quietly. I nuzzled in his hair, smelling the aroma that belonged only to him.

"I was terrified." Sherlock whispered. I looked up at his emotionless face. I felt my throat tighten.

"So was I." I slide my fingers between his and he finally moved his gaze to meet mine.

"I thought-I'm so sorry." He apologized. I wasn't sure what it was for but I didn't reject it, sitting up I kissed his, letting out lips barely skim over each other. He was trembling now, his hand came up to hold the back of my head.

* * *

><p>"Scarlett is staying with Mycroft for the weekend, while you get settled." Sherlock said, his eyes focused on me as I used my clipped to crop my hair short again. Sherlock gathered my hair, bagging it for one of his experiments. I laughed out loud at the other idea that popped into my head. Maybe he had a shrine of me.<p>

"What's so funny?" He asked, I rubbed my hand over my head. Nearly completely gray now, I sighed.

"Nothing. I'm getting old." I said, frowning at my reflection. Freshly shaven and just having another shower felt amazing. Sherlock approached behind me from behind. I was suddenly aware I was shirtless.

"Gray hair suits you. The color makes your eyes more vivid, and show off the your tan skin." He said, his fingers slide over my wrist. I arched back against him. Sherlock didn't have a gray hair on in his boucy raven curls. I blew out a puff of air.

"Well, as long as you like it." I said sarcastically, turning my head slightly. The kiss he dragged me in was nearly earth shattering. I was turned around and lifted onto the sink in a fluid motion. I gasped as Sherlock slide between my thighs. The warmth of him surrounded me and I shivered, wrapping my arms around his shoulders. His hands slide down the thick roped muscles of my back. I groaned into his mouth, rutting against him like a horny teenager.

"You worked out while you where held." He commented. Of course he would know. Rolling my eyes I nodded. With nothing else to do I'd done my military exercises repeatedly. The sweat helped to keep me sane.

"Yeah." I answered, kissing down his pale throat. He tried to move back, and I wrapped my legs around his waist, locking him into place. I thrusted against him mercilessly and he was just as recuperating.

"My pants." He gasped, releasing him from the leg lock he dropped his expensive blacks suit pants. I shivered at the contact of his through my thin pajama pants. He was hard, really hard. He took over, kissing my throat along with biting and licking. I should have been much more embarrassed by the wet stain that began appearing on the front of my pants than I was.

"John," He kissed the bruised flesh on my throat. His voice was thick with lust, deep and throaty as he spoke in my ear.

"Bend over." He ordered. I never could disobey a direct order. I slide off the sink and bent over it, flushing as I saw my reflection. Sherlock smirked over my shoulder, grinding into my backside I cried out. My mouth opened, and my eyes rolled into the back of my head.

"What do you want, John?" Sherlock asked, he rubbed his fingers through my newly cut hair. Gripping a handful he yanked my head back, I moaned. In the mirror their was no hiding my obvious lust. Even my untouched nipples where standing on end.

"Fuck me." I rasped. I needed this. I needed to be as close to Sherlock as I could. He kissed my exposed throat. My pants suddenly disappeared.

"Lube, we need lube!" I gasped, his warm fingers touching me. Sherlock looked up, I shivered.

"I didn't buy any ..." He said. Opening the medicine cabinet behind the mirror, I looked for something, anything. Vaseline, that could work. Dipping my fingers in it, I worked myself open. Sherlock was watching, his eyes burning, my erection accidentally bumped the cold porcelain of the skin and I cried out, spasming against my fingers.

"John-" Sherlock growled, gripping my hips so tightly they'd bruise. His erection rubbed impatiently against my probing fingers, and I moaned. He kissed hot trails up my spine, kneading my hot flesh. He bent down behind me, knocking my fingers away. I cried out as I felt his much longer finger slide into me. He was relentless, even as I clung to the sink, forehead resting against my own reflection, he didn't stop.

"Sherlock!" I rasped, two fingers. Twisting, I nearly came when his fingers brushed my prostate.

"Now!" I begged, and with a last swirl he stood. He coated himself with the vaseline before pressing at my entrance. His breath was ragged on my neck, his hands sliding up and down my chest.

"Ready?" He asked, his silver eyes amused at my slutty appearance in the mirror. A thin trail of drool was seeping from my gaping mouth. My arms strained, pawing at the mirror helplessly.

"Just do it!" I snapped, and he chuckled. We both cursed in unison when he jerked his hips forward. Immediately Sherlock was pounding into me, lost in the pleasure. I cried out, having to reach back and still him.

"Sherlock wait, give me a second to adjust." I panted heavily, fogging up my image in the reflection. Sherlock's eyes where dazed over in the mirror, primal need causing him to shake as he nodded stiffly. Groaning I rotated my hips slowly, trying to speed up the stretching process. Sherlock twitched forward and I dropped my head on the glass.

"Sherlock wait!" I cried, and he growled into my neck. His hips stilled, but he was throbbing so steadily in me. I reached back, knitting my fingers into the ones he had firmly grasping my hips. After a few more moments, I was ready. Rocking back to test it, I didn't have a choice after that. It was too much for Sherlock. He fucked me, hard. His hips darting forward so deeply, and swiftly I was clawing at the mirror, begging him to slow down to allow me to catch up with these feelings.

It was so much, too much. I realized that this was Sherlock coping when I saw his face in the mirror. He had been terrified I would never return to him, he was confirming my existence beneath him. The slight pain vanished for mind rippling pleasure. I cursed as he gripped my thigh in his hand, squeezing the softness before lifting it to rest on the sink. The new angle made it so every time his narrow hips slammed into mine, his blunt tip was grinding into my prostate. I went as tight as a bow string, gripping the edges of the sink until my knuckles went white.

"I'm gonna-" I felt Sherlock tightening behind me too. When one of us acted, the other reacted. He reached down between my legs, his hands still slick as he gripped me. With a few synchronized jerks and thrust I was over the edge. White hot lights sparkled and cracked in front of my eyes. My stomach coiled tight before snapping and breaking, allowing a flood to seep over Sherlock's hands. Behind me I saw the moment Sherlock felt my warmth in his palms, his own orgasm was ripped from him. His neck strained and his eyes clamped shut as he filled me with his thick, hot seed. Slumping against the mirror, he rested against my back. I felt him soften inside me, and his arms came to wrap around torso. Both of our breathing was short and fast. I looked over my shoulder, shaking my head slowly.

"That-That was brilliant, fantastic, phenomenal-" I listed. Sherlock gave a weary chuckle against my shoulder blade, kissing the tanned flesh their.

"You are aware you're rambling." He murmured, kissing the nape of my neck lazily.

"Sorry." I hummed. Whatever weight I'd felt on my chest had been lifted. With Sherlock holding me tightly, everything felt perfect.

"It's fine." He smiled, kissing me finally on the lips.


	8. Chapter 8

I do not own BBC Sherlock

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

"Papa!" Scarlett called, running up to me. My eyes widened, she'd grown at least two inches in the last few months, and the chubbiness in her face had diminished some. Her cheekbones where going to be as prominent as her fathers.

"Scarlett." I sighed, feeling my heart warm as I lifted her from the ground. He arms and legs wrapped tightly around my legs and torso, she sniffled into my cheek.

"You left me!" She wailed, digging her little fingers into my shoulder. I squeezed her into the tightest hug I could that wouldn't hurt her.

"I'm sorry." I smiled, my eyes closed in bliss. Her soft hair brushed my cheek.

"You saved me, why did you do that? They took you away." She was shuttering against me now. I kissed her cheek soothingly. She was alternating between speaking french and english.

"I had to protect you." I answered, rocking her back and forth. Sherlock was watching us with cool eyes from the hallway. Mycroft at his side, carrying the bags of clothes he had bought for the girl. They'd spoil her if I wasn't around.

"Don't do that, okay? I don't like it when you leave!" She said, patting at my chest in a very similar way that Sherlock had fluttered his hands over me to make sure I was okay. I kissed her forehead, nuzzling her cheek.

"I'm sorry." I apologized again. She pouted, our foreheads resting together before she pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose. I set her down with a laugh, mussing up her hair.

"Mycroft, it's good to see you." I said, walking over to him. His eyebrows shot up, and I cursed. He'd seen the slight limp in my walk from me and Sherlock's earlier ... activities.

"It's very good to see you standing, John." He didn't try to hide the delight his newest revelation gave him. I narrowed my eyes, squeezing his hand.

"How's Lestrade?" I challenged, the shock was clearly displaced on his usual calm face. Sherlock actually snickered beside him.

"Fine." He answered coolly, annoyed I'd not taking his teasing in stride. I smirked, and crossed my arms over my chest. Scarlett came running from Sherlock's room, a gift in her hand.

"Papa, Papa look! A present for you!" She called, lifting the gift. Sherlock was still bemusedly sliding sidelong glances at Mycroft for being outsmarted when he glanced up. His smile dropped.

"Scarlett, no!" He shouted, I pulled the small box from the girls hands laughing. Sherlock was beet red, clearly embarrassed.

"What's in here?" I asked, pulling at the ribbon. Sherlock scrambled to grab it from my hands. His long arm tangled with mine as we both fought for it box.

"Let go Sherlock, she gave it too me!" I shouted, he wrestled me to the couch and I growled.

"You can't open it yet!" Sherlock snapped in my ear. Ridiculous! He was always so bossy! I used my forearm as a bar over his chest, pushing as I pulled off the top. Scarlett's giggling at our childish behavior faded. Inside the box was a simple silver band.

"Aeternus." Was carved elegantly on the inside in Sherlock's handwriting. The word sounded foreign on my lips. Sherlock lifted himself from laying on me, using his arms to hoist him up I rolled on my back to face. His eyes flickered shyly to Mycroft, before going to me.

"It means eternal or everlasting in Latin. I-I wanted to give it to you-" Sherlock fumbled, obviously horrified at having to do this in front of his brother. I couldn't help it, I sat up and I kissed him. In front of Scarlett and Mycroft. I could momentarily hear Scarlett's squeal.

"I want a kiss!" She demanded, Mycroft hauled her from the flat. I tenderly looked at Sherlock, who was glaring at the box.

"I'll never hear the end of this." He muttered, glancing at where Mycroft had just left. I held the box out to him, and he rolled his eyes. Plucking it from the package, he slide the ring on my finger.

"It's just a ring, don't assume-" I kissed him again, curling my fingers in his hair.

"I love you." I said seriously, looking into those constantly changing eyes. They where currently green, his gaze soft.

"Obviously." He pointed out, I laughed as he pinned me to the couch, kissing me repeatedly.

* * *

><p>I gave Sherlock his own ring for his thirty sixth birthday. His was a sleek dark silver color. It was plain and on the inside I'd gotten 'Forever yours' inscribed. He'd rolled his eyes and commented on how very predictable I was but thanked me none the less. Telling Sherlock about what Moriarty had done, what he had planned had been the hardest thing I'd ever had to do.<p>

"He had Irene used you to get Irene pregnant. They wanted a child to use against you and Mycroft." I explained. Sherlock was looking passed me, thinking.

"He hasn't tried anything in nearly a year. He said he was coming for Scarlett but he hasn't. He's found something else." Sherlock said. I gripped my knees, looking at him before dropping my gaze to my feet.

"What?" I asked, his eyes met mine in a rare moment of confusion.

"I don't know." He admitted.

* * *

><p>For the rest of Scarlett's childhood things where mostly normal. Well, as normal of a childhood as you can have when your raised by Sherlock Holmes.<p>

"John, Scarlett's been kidnapped." Sherlock said when I came in with the groceries. I sighed, rubbing my forehead. Today was her fourteenth birthday, I'd been hoping for normal.

"Did you check the GPS?" I asked, flipping open the laptop. We'd given her a silver bracelet with GPS in it after the tenth kidnapping. Criminals these days where predictable.

"Not yet, thought I'd let her have a bit of fun before going to 'save' her." Sherlock grinned, looking up from the microscope beneath his nose. He looked exactly the same as ten years ago. He'd gained ten pounds, but if anything that had been an improvement on his lanky figure. I'd noticed a silver hair glistening by his temple the other day, but I assume he plucked it because it no longer stood out against his raven curls.

"What if we are underestimating her captors." I said, setting up the birthday cake. Sherlock handed me the note.

"If you want your daughter back, tell the cops that it ain't no ones fault at the pier. It can be an accident." I read aloud. I winced, and nodded.

"Yeah she'll be fine." I concluded, still worried a bit. Even though this had happened before multiple amounts of time, I couldn't help but worry.

"Kieran has already hacked into our GPS tracking system. He should be on his way to pick her up." I sighed in relief. Kier was Scarlett's friend. The boy who had helped her on the first day of school in kindergarten. He was two years older than her, but he was the calm to her chaos. The boy was a genius with computers.

"Good." I sighed, sticking candles in the back. Half an hour later their was the sound of twin pair of footsteps racing up the stairs.

"I was fine without you!" Scarlett barked, her dark ringlets of childhood had calmed to be loose soft curls. The auburn curtain hung down her back back in a cascade of silk. Scarlett was a stunning girl, if not a bit eccentric. Those sharp eyes that were nearly identical to her fathers, despite having much thicker dark lashes, where just as clever. Her thick, pink lips where smashed together. Throughout her childhood she had been always a bit chubbier, but much to my horror the weight was shifting to womanly spots and young men where beginning to notice.

"Didn't seem that way." Kieran commented easily letting her heated words roll off his broad shoulders. He nodded to me, and glanced at Sherlock. Tall, fit, with brown-blonde hair. The boy got looks where ever he went. While Scarlett was a strange, exotic beauty he was handsome in the usual sense. Strong eyebrows where positioned over light brown eyes that where endlessly patient.

"I don't need your help, Lestrade would have come for me." She huffed, slamming her bedroom door. Kieran scowled, his lips pursing together before he opened her door and closed it behind him. Scarlett had taken Sherlocks room, while me and Sherlock shared the one upstairs.

"She still has a crush on Lestrade?" I complained, Sherlock smirked. It killed both me and Kieran for her to be infatuated with some even older than her father. She didn't hide her feelings for the older man, and it led to a rather annoyed Mycroft and amused Lestrade.

"Seems not." Sherlock commented.

"Scarlett, your cake." I said, opening the door. Kieran had her pinned to the ground, both of their breathing was quick. I raised an eyebrow. Kieran looked up at me, his grip on her wrist slacked and she swept her leg around pinning his much larger body to the floor. She smirked, raising her fist in victory.

"Darling, your cake and presents." I said, nodding to the kitchen. She stood, dusting her hands as Kieran followed, his face ever a mask of calm.

"I thought you would do something stupid and invite a bunch of-" The door bell rang and she gave me a sour look. I guiltily shuffled my feet.

"It's just family." I assured, going to the door. My eyes opened wide at what I saw. Mycroft and Lestrade where in the front, Mrs. Hudson's smashed between them. Behind where a couple of officers carrying large packages obviously from Mycroft.

"Happy Birthday!" They shouted to Scarlett who stood behind me. She groaned, turning and going to the kitchen. I blushed escorting them in.

"John." Sherlock's voice was reprimanding.

"You're such a moron!" Scarlett screamed, tackling Kier in the living room. He landed with a grunt, rolling on top of the girl.

"Glad to see you're in such high spirits, Scarlett." Lestrade smiled. The girl looked up from where she had been straddling her friend. Yelping she jumped up, smoothing her shirt.

"Yeah, thanks for coming." She said primly. I blinked owlishly. It was always a shock to see how good she was at acting, just like her father.

"Sherlock help get the presents set up." I called, but he didn't move from his spot in font of the microscope.

"Good to see you brother." Mycroft flashed in his ear. Sherlock growled, turning around.

"Should have expected you to come, Mycroft. If there is a pastry within two hundred feet of baker street you always some how manage to pop up." Sherlock spite out.

"Sherlock!" I scolded, walking over to the phone where it was ringing shrilly.

"This looks delicious!" Mrs. Hudson garbled, lifting a finger to try the frosting. Scarlett and Kier where still wrestling and bumped into her back.

"Oh!" She cried, her entire hand smashing into the cake.

"Scarlett!" I shouted.

"Your diet's been aborted, judging by the five pounds you've accumulated since I've last seen you."

"Is that a gray hair? You're aging rapidly, brother." Mycroft quipped.

"Hello?" I asked into the phone, clamping an arm under Scarlett's ribs to restrain her. Lestrade was yelling at one of the officers for forgetting a present at the station in living room. The house was in complete chaos!

"Mr. Watson. This is Mr. Harper. I'm calling because your daughter has been caught on the security camera breaking into my room and stealing my furniture to be placed on the roof as her own _private office_." The teacher said. Scarlett strained to listen over all the shouting.

"She did what?" I snapped, she ducked under my arms.

"He's lying! I clearly covered all the security cameras in the area first!" She snapped into the phone. I winced.

"Here Mrs. Hudson, I'll help you wash it off." Kier said, leading the sniffling old woman to the sink.

"Careful Mrs. Hudson, if Mycroft smells the scent of cake on your hands he might take a finger off."

"I can't believe you left her present, Anderson!"

"I want to see the footage, there is no way I missed a camera!"

"I'll talk to her, Mr. Harper. Thanks for calling." I said, she suddenly snapped her gaze to Kier.

"You forgot to get the camera on the north western part of his office." She growled. Kier looked up from behind Mrs. Hudson.

"I did not." He said evenly.

"I'll go back and get it." Anderson muttered. Dishes clattered to the ground shattering as Scarlett slammed into Kier.

"Idiot!"

"Sherlock domestic bliss has suited you, a faithful partner, a child. You're simply stupefied with happiness. I've heard about the case you had weren't able to complete without the help of your little girl."

"Call me little girl again Mycroft and we'll let Lestrade know all about the Watergate incident."

"What incident?"

"Scarlett, dear. You said you would keep that private."

"Bite me."

"SCARLETT!"

I massaged my temples, flopping into the chair beside Sherlock who was giving his daughter the identical amused look that she wore. My family was crazy, loud, utterly insane. But I loved them. I truly loved them. As Sherlock rested his arm along the length of my shoulder, he updated me on the relationship status of two of Lestrade's newest recruits. We were betting how long until the couple got together. Sherlock deduced them softly into my ear, causing me to snicker. Completely insane.


	9. Chapter 9

I do not own BBC Sherlock.

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

**A/N:** _'_**_Investigative Analyst Scarlett Holmes' is the sequel to this story._ Please review if you'd like me to continue it. Thinking about cancelling the sequel because of so little reviews. Here is the first chapter, read and review! **

Shoulder dangling limply at my side. Popped out of socket? Shift slightly. Groan in pain. Definitely.

"Quiet." Kier pants above me, his larger body pinning me to the wall. I scowl up at him. People consider him my friend, I consider him the annoying prat who follows be around. Occasionally he can be of help, when something heavy needs lifting.

"My arm." I complain against his chest. He glances down, peering around the wall before gripping my arm firmly in his large grasp. I bit at his shoulder as he jerks it back into socket. Muffled scream.

"You okay?" He gasped, worry reflecting in soft brown eyes. Nod, assure him. Boring.

"Are they still there?" I whisper. He nods, still protectively obscuring my body with his own. Boring, tedious. Thinks of me as his little friend who needs to be protected. Want to elbow him in the stomach, teach him a lesson.

"Let's go." I cough. Rib bruised? Need to learn to fight better, Kier is a much more avid fighter than I. Annoying.

"You're hurt, we're going home." He says sternly.

"I already have two fathers, I don't need a third." I comment briskly. He tenses, glances down at me. The height disadvantage makes him think I'm small, a child who needs to be protected.

"This is dangerous. I'm not letting you get hurt, again." He says, much to my frustration he _is_ stronger than me by a wide margin. If he truly wants to drag me somewhere he is able, especially in my damaged state.

"I'm already injured. If that was your objective you've done a bang up job. Just leave, I'm fine on my own." Insult his ability to protect me. One of his touchy areas. Doesn't like it pointed out that he can't control me.

"I'm not leaving." He says. We've been 'friends' too long. He knows my manipulation tricks. He let's them slide off his shoulders. Too calm, too patient. Makes my blood boil.

"Lestrade will come if I need him." I comment, something snaps. He hates when I bring up Lestrade. Beneath his calm light brown eyes something is burning. I smirk.

"Let's go." He says, gripping my hands and dragging me to the office overlooking the Thames river. We leave the ally and enter the building. Kier's usual stoic face collapses with anxiety.

"Can we phone the police? This girls been mugged." Kier says frantically. The usual soothing tone of his deep voice vanishes for a prattling idiot. The woman at the front desk nods, worry. Doesn't even stop to think why two teenagers wouldn't have cell phones in this day and age.

"Hello, yes? My name is Don Finnegan. A girl's been mugged in the ally near the- Oh! Yes, we're inside the Letterman building along the Thames. Please hurry!" Kier rasped into the dial tone. He handed the phone back to the girl.

"I'm going to vomit." I sob pitifully.

"Take her to the bathroom!" The receptionist cries. Kier nods, leading me down the hall. His warm hand holds beneath my ribs, leading me until we vanish from her vision.

"Ten minutes before she gets suspicious." Kier says, straightening. I nod, glancing around.

"You're father is going to kill me." Kier mentions.

"Which one?" I ask, he sighs. Glancing up and down the halls I spot the room with the most likely vantage point.

"There." I say, running down the hall. Cursing at the locked door, I motion for Kier. He drops to one knee, pulling the lock pick from his pocket. The one I stole from my father. Never had the patience for lock picking, left it for Kier to manage. The door opens. I moan in delight, spreading my fingers. The image before me beautiful.

"Oh perfect!" I call, spinning around in glee. The room is a blood bath.

"Call Lestrade!" I laugh, dropping to inspect the marks. Papers strewn all over the room. Struggle. Glance rapidly around, my eyes straining for every detail.

"Get out!" I hiss when Kier's massive body takes up a part of the room, hiding it from my gaze. Rolling his eyes heaven ward he steps out, shutting the door behind me. Doesn't add up. Where's the body? No marks on the floor, couldn't have taken it out while it was still dripping. No time. Heating snaps on. Annoying. Where is it? Where could the body be stowed? Think, think. Where? Sniff.

"Oh ho ho." I chuckle.

"Kier!" I call, he opens the door. Finishes a few words, snaps his phone shut. Motion for him. He opens the vent that's out of my reach. Hold my arms out like a child, he lifts me. A dead man's broken body is shoved into the vent. A rumpled suit covered in blood. Press my knees on Kier's shoulders, inspect body.

"Multiple stab wounds."

"Your crotch is in my face." He grunts. Ignore him. Slit across neck? Why, the stabbing would be enough. Oh! I see.

"An argument, someone who hated this man. Premeditated." Tug at his pockets. Wallet not there. Curse.

"Stop fondling me." I mutter.

"I'm not!" Kier snaps. Smirk. Cell phone buzzes, ignore it.

"We're going to get caught." Kier says. Ignore him. I'm missing something. Noise. Ignore. Why would he leave the body hidden but not clean up his office. Didn't have enough time. Was interrupted? By who? Eyes widen.

"Kier!" I scream. Kier's fast, natural quick reflexes. Swoops me down and drops me into a princess hold. Runs from the room.

"Let go! We have to capture the murder!" I curse, slapping at his chest. Kier glares behind us, racing down the halls with the bumbling murderer who had been hidden in his bathroom.

"Are you kidding me? He has a knife." Kier mutters. Yelp as Kier barrels down the stairs. Humiliating.

"I can run!" I hiss, clawing at his shoulders. He winces but doesn't release me. Rounds a corner. Sirens. Flush a bit. Lestrade. Elbow Kier, nearly drops me. Enough. I jump from his hold, slamming him to the wall. Grunts.

"He's coming." Kier pants. I tug at his pants, glance up. His cheeks are red. Unbuckle belt. Kier's narrow hips, his jeans slide low on them. Belt gets caught in jeans. Pull.

"Scarlett!" Kier gasps. Shove him back against the wall when he tries to sit up.

"Distract him!" I snap. Kier jumps out from behind the corner. The bloody business man trembles, Kier is intimidating in his size. A large, fit young man with a strong build. Murder realizes he has a knife, swipes at him. Kier breathes heavily, lifting his fist in boxer style. Ducks another swing. Curses as it catches his stomach, rips open his shirt. Blood.

"Hey!" I scream. Hatred. I don't like when Kier is hurt . Man whips around, looking at me. Swipes. Not as fast as Kier. Kier slams him to the ground. I snap his wrist back. Not necessary, but I still break it. Payment for Kier's injury. Bloody knife falls with a dull thump on the carpet. Push Kier out of the way. Secure murderer with Kier's belt.

"Scarlett!" Lestrade shouts, running up the stairs. Heart flutters. I grin, sitting on top of my prize.

"The body is in the vent of his office. The victim took his promotion, better salesman. Jealousy. Murderer lured him into the office, locked the door murdered him only an hour ago. Multiple stab wounds to the torso, slit neck." I recited. Where those enough words to get my point across. It was hard for me to follow a normal persons thought pattern. Lestrade motioned for his officer to retrain the man squirming beneath me. I allow Lestrade to carefully lift me off the man. Why so careful? Oh. I was stabbed too. Wince. Dad and John are going to hear about this.

"What am I going to do with you? I can barely handle your father." He groans, his large tan hands holding my shoulders. I realize I'm blushing. Annoying.

"If you didn't give my dad all the good cases I wouldn't have to go behind your back." I say, frown when his hands leave me. Sniff. Scowl. Smells like Mycroft. Fat lard.

"You're only sixteen-"

"Nearly seventeen." I add.

"I can't let a teenager in on cases. I already get hell for allowing your father to be a consulting detective-"

"Investigative Analyst. Put Kier on then, I'll assist him. Legally he is an adult." I correct him with my title. Much more accurate than my fathers. He rolls his eyes. Kier's before me, his fingers running over my stomach.

"You're hurt, were are the medics!" He shouts. Shock, Kier rarely raises his voice. Our wounds are identical.

"You're hurt too." I point out, he blocks my vision with his ridiculously large body. Glare at him when Lestrade leaves because of his fretting.

"I jostled you when we where running. Are you okay?" He says. Always worrying about me. Slap his hands away. Go to Lestrade. Handsome tan flesh. Bright white teeth. Gray messy hair. Resist swooning.

"How did you know the murder would take place?" Lestrade asked on my approach, his gaze fixed on the scribbling he's doing in his notepad. His eyes flashing to Kier who is probably glaring behind me.

"We saw the goons down at a pier on the Thames. We happened to be passing by when they spoke of a body they where going to have to dispose of. No details, but they gestured to this building. We got caught listening, roughed up a bit. I calculated the general vicinity of where they where, and where the murderer would be able to give them a clear signal. Found the office and the body. Murderer came up from behind us." I detailed. Enough words? Lestrade seemed to get the gist of it and nodded.

"You're a brilliant girl, Scarlett." He sighed. I felt myself flush at his compliment.

"J-Jenny-" Scowl at the stutter. Ridiculous teenage hormones.

"She's still upset with you." Lestrade smiles at me. I swoon.

"I already apologized, what more does she want?" I blurt. Lestrade snorts.

"You'll have to talk to her about it." He says. Jenny, sweet, lovely Jenny. Looks like her father. Probably why I keep a 'friendship' with her. Lying to myself. I like her, enjoy her company. She thinks I'm weird, like her father. Laughs at me, but with endearment. Calls me brilliant when other people say I'm a freak.

"I didn't mean to miss it." I say. Her eighteenth birthday party. Kier went. Said it was fun. Last thing I want to do is get rubbed on my a lusty teenager. Should have went for her. Meant to. Got distracted by the mold growing in the sink. When I told her that she yelled at me. Maybe if I showed her the studies and reports I write on it she would forgive me?

"Can I go home with you?" I ask. A few officers turn, looking at us. Blink up at them. Lestrade blushes.

"Uh, sure. By why don't we get you fixed up first, let your parents know where you are." He says, nodding to my keeper. Kier's angry. He leads me to the ambulance. We side side by side as we get patched up. Kier needs stitches, mines minor. Won't even scar.

"You're mad at me." I say once the medic goes to ask for more sterile bandages from another ambulance. Kier's glaring straight ahead. Won't look at me. He's pissed.

"I'm not." He says, fumbles with the bandage. Hesitate. Lean over and nudge his shoulder with my cheek, rest it there. He stiffens before relaxing. He loves to be touched. Strange, I hate it. It calms him, makes him forgive me when I touch him.

"Don't think I'm forgiving you, cause' I'm not." He mutters. It's a lie though. Kier can't stay angry at me. Not sure why. I can not speak to him for weeks on end, but he can barely be angry at me unless I purposely get myself injured. Then he is livid.

"I apologize." I say. My right hand man. Some might say 'best friend'. I like his scent. Masculine. Something I've grown up with. Inhale. Soothing.

"We're going to Jenny's. I need to apologize to her, as well." I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. Too much apologizing for my taste. The only two people other than my parents I will apologize too. Rarely Jenny, but always Kier.

"I can't. I've got a date." He says, his eyes flickering from mine for a moment. I sit up, scowling.

"You're lying. Why?" I ask. Dates aren't unusual for him. Tedious. I remember the tantrum I threw when he went on his first date when he was fifteen and I only twelve. None could get close to him. Said he was too closed off, too cold. Too unfeeling, distant. Yeah right, Kier was a pain in the ass with all his emotions.

"I'm not." He lied again. Brain works rapidly. Kier never lies to me. Why wouldn't he go with me to Jenny's? In pain? No, I'm hurt. Usually he'd come spend the night at the flat on 221B from even a scratch. Then why? Past references. Doesn't mind going to Jenny's. Only occasionally refuses. Connecting factor? Lestrade.

"You don't want to go because Lestrade will be there." I state. Should have realized it before. Berate myself for not paying attention. Kier scoffs, looks away from me.

"Once again Scarlett, you've got it all figured out." Angry again. Sigh. Annoying. Slide my hand into his. Shocked before relaxing. Loves the contact, practically melts from it. Still working out why he adores it so. His hand is much larger than mine, the texture rougher.

"Come with me." I say, my voice soft with playacting. He rolls his eyes, hearing it. Hard to trick Kier, knows me too well.

"Alright." He gives in.


	10. Chapter 10

I do not own BBC Sherlock.

* * *

><p>.o0Sherlock0o.<p>

**A/N:** _'_**_Investigative Analyst Scarlett Holmes' is the sequel to this story._ Please review if you'd like me to continue it. Thinking about cancelling the sequel because of so little reviews. Here is the first chapter, read and review! **

Shoulder dangling limply at my side. Popped out of socket? Shift slightly. Groan in pain. Definitely.

"Quiet." Kier pants above me, his larger body pinning me to the wall. I scowl up at him. People consider him my friend, I consider him the annoying prat who follows be around. Occasionally he can be of help, when something heavy needs lifting.

"My arm." I complain against his chest. He glances down, peering around the wall before gripping my arm firmly in his large grasp. I bit at his shoulder as he jerks it back into socket. Muffled scream.

"You okay?" He gasped, worry reflecting in soft brown eyes. Nod, assure him. Boring.

"Are they still there?" I whisper. He nods, still protectively obscuring my body with his own. Boring, tedious. Thinks of me as his little friend who needs to be protected. Want to elbow him in the stomach, teach him a lesson.

"Let's go." I cough. Rib bruised? Need to learn to fight better, Kier is a much more avid fighter than I. Annoying.

"You're hurt, we're going home." He says sternly.

"I already have two fathers, I don't need a third." I comment briskly. He tenses, glances down at me. The height disadvantage makes him think I'm small, a child who needs to be protected.

"This is dangerous. I'm not letting you get hurt, again." He says, much to my frustration he _is_ stronger than me by a wide margin. If he truly wants to drag me somewhere he is able, especially in my damaged state.

"I'm already injured. If that was your objective you've done a bang up job. Just leave, I'm fine on my own." Insult his ability to protect me. One of his touchy areas. Doesn't like it pointed out that he can't control me.

"I'm not leaving." He says. We've been 'friends' too long. He knows my manipulation tricks. He let's them slide off his shoulders. Too calm, too patient. Makes my blood boil.

"Lestrade will come if I need him." I comment, something snaps. He hates when I bring up Lestrade. Beneath his calm light brown eyes something is burning. I smirk.

"Let's go." He says, gripping my hands and dragging me to the office overlooking the Thames river. We leave the ally and enter the building. Kier's usual stoic face collapses with anxiety.

"Can we phone the police? This girls been mugged." Kier says frantically. The usual soothing tone of his deep voice vanishes for a prattling idiot. The woman at the front desk nods, worry. Doesn't even stop to think why two teenagers wouldn't have cell phones in this day and age.

"Hello, yes? My name is Don Finnegan. A girl's been mugged in the ally near the- Oh! Yes, we're inside the Letterman building along the Thames. Please hurry!" Kier rasped into the dial tone. He handed the phone back to the girl.

"I'm going to vomit." I sob pitifully.

"Take her to the bathroom!" The receptionist cries. Kier nods, leading me down the hall. His warm hand holds beneath my ribs, leading me until we vanish from her vision.

"Ten minutes before she gets suspicious." Kier says, straightening. I nod, glancing around.

"You're father is going to kill me." Kier mentions.

"Which one?" I ask, he sighs. Glancing up and down the halls I spot the room with the most likely vantage point.

"There." I say, running down the hall. Cursing at the locked door, I motion for Kier. He drops to one knee, pulling the lock pick from his pocket. The one I stole from my father. Never had the patience for lock picking, left it for Kier to manage. The door opens. I moan in delight, spreading my fingers. The image before me beautiful.

"Oh perfect!" I call, spinning around in glee. The room is a blood bath.

"Call Lestrade!" I laugh, dropping to inspect the marks. Papers strewn all over the room. Struggle. Glance rapidly around, my eyes straining for every detail.

"Get out!" I hiss when Kier's massive body takes up a part of the room, hiding it from my gaze. Rolling his eyes heaven ward he steps out, shutting the door behind me. Doesn't add up. Where's the body? No marks on the floor, couldn't have taken it out while it was still dripping. No time. Heating snaps on. Annoying. Where is it? Where could the body be stowed? Think, think. Where? Sniff.

"Oh ho ho." I chuckle.

"Kier!" I call, he opens the door. Finishes a few words, snaps his phone shut. Motion for him. He opens the vent that's out of my reach. Hold my arms out like a child, he lifts me. A dead man's broken body is shoved into the vent. A rumpled suit covered in blood. Press my knees on Kier's shoulders, inspect body.

"Multiple stab wounds."

"Your crotch is in my face." He grunts. Ignore him. Slit across neck? Why, the stabbing would be enough. Oh! I see.

"An argument, someone who hated this man. Premeditated." Tug at his pockets. Wallet not there. Curse.

"Stop fondling me." I mutter.

"I'm not!" Kier snaps. Smirk. Cell phone buzzes, ignore it.

"We're going to get caught." Kier says. Ignore him. I'm missing something. Noise. Ignore. Why would he leave the body hidden but not clean up his office. Didn't have enough time. Was interrupted? By who? Eyes widen.

"Kier!" I scream. Kier's fast, natural quick reflexes. Swoops me down and drops me into a princess hold. Runs from the room.

"Let go! We have to capture the murder!" I curse, slapping at his chest. Kier glares behind us, racing down the halls with the bumbling murderer who had been hidden in his bathroom.

"Are you kidding me? He has a knife." Kier mutters. Yelp as Kier barrels down the stairs. Humiliating.

"I can run!" I hiss, clawing at his shoulders. He winces but doesn't release me. Rounds a corner. Sirens. Flush a bit. Lestrade. Elbow Kier, nearly drops me. Enough. I jump from his hold, slamming him to the wall. Grunts.

"He's coming." Kier pants. I tug at his pants, glance up. His cheeks are red. Unbuckle belt. Kier's narrow hips, his jeans slide low on them. Belt gets caught in jeans. Pull.

"Scarlett!" Kier gasps. Shove him back against the wall when he tries to sit up.

"Distract him!" I snap. Kier jumps out from behind the corner. The bloody business man trembles, Kier is intimidating in his size. A large, fit young man with a strong build. Murder realizes he has a knife, swipes at him. Kier breathes heavily, lifting his fist in boxer style. Ducks another swing. Curses as it catches his stomach, rips open his shirt. Blood.

"Hey!" I scream. Hatred. I don't like when Kier is hurt . Man whips around, looking at me. Swipes. Not as fast as Kier. Kier slams him to the ground. I snap his wrist back. Not necessary, but I still break it. Payment for Kier's injury. Bloody knife falls with a dull thump on the carpet. Push Kier out of the way. Secure murderer with Kier's belt.

"Scarlett!" Lestrade shouts, running up the stairs. Heart flutters. I grin, sitting on top of my prize.

"The body is in the vent of his office. The victim took his promotion, better salesman. Jealousy. Murderer lured him into the office, locked the door murdered him only an hour ago. Multiple stab wounds to the torso, slit neck." I recited. Where those enough words to get my point across. It was hard for me to follow a normal persons thought pattern. Lestrade motioned for his officer to retrain the man squirming beneath me. I allow Lestrade to carefully lift me off the man. Why so careful? Oh. I was stabbed too. Wince. Dad and John are going to hear about this.

"What am I going to do with you? I can barely handle your father." He groans, his large tan hands holding my shoulders. I realize I'm blushing. Annoying.

"If you didn't give my dad all the good cases I wouldn't have to go behind your back." I say, frown when his hands leave me. Sniff. Scowl. Smells like Mycroft. Fat lard.

"You're only sixteen-"

"Nearly seventeen." I add.

"I can't let a teenager in on cases. I already get hell for allowing your father to be a consulting detective-"

"Investigative Analyst. Put Kier on then, I'll assist him. Legally he is an adult." I correct him with my title. Much more accurate than my fathers. He rolls his eyes. Kier's before me, his fingers running over my stomach.

"You're hurt, were are the medics!" He shouts. Shock, Kier rarely raises his voice. Our wounds are identical.

"You're hurt too." I point out, he blocks my vision with his ridiculously large body. Glare at him when Lestrade leaves because of his fretting.

"I jostled you when we where running. Are you okay?" He says. Always worrying about me. Slap his hands away. Go to Lestrade. Handsome tan flesh. Bright white teeth. Gray messy hair. Resist swooning.

"How did you know the murder would take place?" Lestrade asked on my approach, his gaze fixed on the scribbling he's doing in his notepad. His eyes flashing to Kier who is probably glaring behind me.

"We saw the goons down at a pier on the Thames. We happened to be passing by when they spoke of a body they where going to have to dispose of. No details, but they gestured to this building. We got caught listening, roughed up a bit. I calculated the general vicinity of where they where, and where the murderer would be able to give them a clear signal. Found the office and the body. Murderer came up from behind us." I detailed. Enough words? Lestrade seemed to get the gist of it and nodded.

"You're a brilliant girl, Scarlett." He sighed. I felt myself flush at his compliment.

"J-Jenny-" Scowl at the stutter. Ridiculous teenage hormones.

"She's still upset with you." Lestrade smiles at me. I swoon.

"I already apologized, what more does she want?" I blurt. Lestrade snorts.

"You'll have to talk to her about it." He says. Jenny, sweet, lovely Jenny. Looks like her father. Probably why I keep a 'friendship' with her. Lying to myself. I like her, enjoy her company. She thinks I'm weird, like her father. Laughs at me, but with endearment. Calls me brilliant when other people say I'm a freak.

"I didn't mean to miss it." I say. Her eighteenth birthday party. Kier went. Said it was fun. Last thing I want to do is get rubbed on my a lusty teenager. Should have went for her. Meant to. Got distracted by the mold growing in the sink. When I told her that she yelled at me. Maybe if I showed her the studies and reports I write on it she would forgive me?

"Can I go home with you?" I ask. A few officers turn, looking at us. Blink up at them. Lestrade blushes.

"Uh, sure. By why don't we get you fixed up first, let your parents know where you are." He says, nodding to my keeper. Kier's angry. He leads me to the ambulance. We side side by side as we get patched up. Kier needs stitches, mines minor. Won't even scar.

"You're mad at me." I say once the medic goes to ask for more sterile bandages from another ambulance. Kier's glaring straight ahead. Won't look at me. He's pissed.

"I'm not." He says, fumbles with the bandage. Hesitate. Lean over and nudge his shoulder with my cheek, rest it there. He stiffens before relaxing. He loves to be touched. Strange, I hate it. It calms him, makes him forgive me when I touch him.

"Don't think I'm forgiving you, cause' I'm not." He mutters. It's a lie though. Kier can't stay angry at me. Not sure why. I can not speak to him for weeks on end, but he can barely be angry at me unless I purposely get myself injured. Then he is livid.

"I apologize." I say. My right hand man. Some might say 'best friend'. I like his scent. Masculine. Something I've grown up with. Inhale. Soothing.

"We're going to Jenny's. I need to apologize to her, as well." I sigh, resting my head on his shoulder. Too much apologizing for my taste. The only two people other than my parents I will apologize too. Rarely Jenny, but always Kier.

"I can't. I've got a date." He says, his eyes flickering from mine for a moment. I sit up, scowling.

"You're lying. Why?" I ask. Dates aren't unusual for him. Tedious. I remember the tantrum I threw when he went on his first date when he was fifteen and I only twelve. None could get close to him. Said he was too closed off, too cold. Too unfeeling, distant. Yeah right, Kier was a pain in the ass with all his emotions.

"I'm not." He lied again. Brain works rapidly. Kier never lies to me. Why wouldn't he go with me to Jenny's? In pain? No, I'm hurt. Usually he'd come spend the night at the flat on 221B from even a scratch. Then why? Past references. Doesn't mind going to Jenny's. Only occasionally refuses. Connecting factor? Lestrade.

"You don't want to go because Lestrade will be there." I state. Should have realized it before. Berate myself for not paying attention. Kier scoffs, looks away from me.

"Once again Scarlett, you've got it all figured out." Angry again. Sigh. Annoying. Slide my hand into his. Shocked before relaxing. Loves the contact, practically melts from it. Still working out why he adores it so. His hand is much larger than mine, the texture rougher.

"Come with me." I say, my voice soft with playacting. He rolls his eyes, hearing it. Hard to trick Kier, knows me too well.

"Alright." He gives in.


End file.
